


Hold My Hand

by ann2who



Series: Say When Verse [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Captain America 2 Remake, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Domestic Avengers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Fluff, M/M, Natasha Feels, Past Bucky Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Protective Tony Stark, Steve Feels, Steve Has Issues, Steve Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Team Dynamics, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-03-15 13:12:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 79,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3448427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ann2who/pseuds/ann2who
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>** Cap 2 AU **</p><p>** Can be read as a stand alone! **</p><p>Book 3 of the Say When series. An alternate version of Captain America: The Winter Soldier. In the months following the defeat of the Mandarin, Steve decides to temporarily move back to Washington in order to help SHIELD train the new STRIKE teams. A long-distance relationship is harder than Steve ever thought it would be, and so he resumes life the only way he knows how: fighting the bad guys, following orders. It’s only a matter of time before his past catches up with him, and brings about a man he thought he'd lost forever…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Deep Ravine

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Hold My Hand](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6866980) by [welldoer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/welldoer/pseuds/welldoer)
  * Inspired by [Say When (Fanvideo)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1292167) by [ann2who](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ann2who/pseuds/ann2who). 



> ** This sequel takes place three months after "And I Will Be Your Man" **
> 
> ** This can be read as a stand alone. Just know that Steve went undercover in Iron Man 2 to find out what was happening with Tony. They fell in love during the mission, and after they fought the Mandarin together, they got married. During the fight, Tony got injected with the Extremis virus in order to save his life. The Avengers mostly live together in New York. **
> 
> ** Thanks to my wonderful beta-reader [morphia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/morphia/pseuds/morphia) **

**Steve**

 

 

Steve stepped out onto the Commando Bridge, peering inside the foyer. The lobby was still vacant. The upper hallways, best to his line of visibility, were empty as well.

Which meant no one had watched him and Tony sneak into the storage room. Perfect.

Every inch of him was bursting with life—even the floor under his feet felt new. For everything good in the world, his mood couldn’t be better. Quickly, he made his way through the Triskelion’s hallways while working on the buttons of his uniform. He felt like he had just completed a marathon and that thought alone was enough to bring a light flush to his cheeks. His morning marathons around Washington certainly never made him feel like he wouldn’t be able to stop grinning within the next couple of hours.

This was definitely the better kind of workout, he decided. Barely a minute had passed since he left Tony’s side, and yet his skin tingled as though still brushing intimately against him. His nostrils were flooded with Tony’s scent. He was all around him. Inescapable. And even with so little space separating them, he already felt the burden of detachment.

Another two weeks without seeing each other. Christ, he’d really started to hate this long-distance relationship thing. He’d known it wouldn’t be easy, of course—being away from Tony rarely was—but he hadn’t thought he would feel this bad about it.

All that hastiness and goodbyes. The constant not-knowing. And the want.

God, so much _want_.

Quickies were good and well, but after three months of living in different cities, and only a handful nights when they’d been able to actually sleep in the same bed, Steve craved the times when they had hours—days—to explore each other’s bodies as long and as thoroughly as they both wanted.

It would be easy to blame everything on SHIELD and Stark Industries. After all, it was the combination of their time-consuming jobs that had them both make the decision to live in different cities for a couple of months. In the end, though, it had been he who’d said yes to Fury and sometimes… and it was probably weak to feel like it… he regretted that decision.

All in all, living here wasn’t such a hardship. Aside from training the new STRIKE team, and spending most of his free time with Natasha and Clint, he’d met all sorts of interesting new people. Coulson’s team, Peggy’s niece Sharon, Sam. Sam, in particular, was a great guy. They usually did their morning runs together—sometimes jogging side by side, sometimes with each of them doing their own thing and going for breakfast afterwards.

Hastily, Steve pulled up the shield and sat it down on the holder on his back. The elevator soared higher to the Triskelion’s top level. He leaned back against the glass wall, smiling peaceably and letting his mind drift back for a minute, unable do to anything but.

A low ping announced his arrival. Steve drew a deep breath and willed himself closer to the landing pad. The agents surrounding the Quinjet cast him a few odd looks, but otherwise ignored his still-a-little-disheveled look. Tony had probably known what he was doing when he’d pulled at Steve’s hair as hard as he had, but Steve couldn’t find it in him to care.

Worth it.

“Sorry,” he told his team as he jogged up the rear hatch. “I hope you haven’t been waiting too long. I got held up.”

Natasha’s and Clint’s faces both broke out into sly smiles as they looked him up and down. They didn’t say anything, though. At least they were kind enough to wait until the rest of STRIKE had taken their seats in the back of the Quinjet.

A shadow of a smirk crossed Rumlow’s face before he turned around to the other agents. He’d never said anything about Steve being married to a guy, but Steve had heard a few things here and there and sometimes he got a feeling Rumlow was talking behind his back. Up to this point, he hadn’t felt the need to confront him about it, but if it started to undermine his authority, he would definitely need to reconsider.

“So…” Natasha began with a little amused huff and raised both hands to Steve’s head to smooth down his hair. “I hope he made it good.”

Steve cast her a lazy smile. “As good as it can get in ten something minutes.”

Clint groaned at them, turning around to the monitors. “Rhetorical question. Look it up, would you?”

“Sorry. Might’ve lost a few brain cells back there,” Steve drawled, deadpan. He refused to feel bashful about this. The moments of intimacy with Tony were far too rare for that.

Clint held up a hand, as if he needed a moment of quiet _or else_. Then he pinched his nose and shook his head. “Is this how it’s gonna be now? Give you two an enclosed area, and you’re going at it like bunnies?”

“We barely see each other twice a month. I figured we were going the same way so…” Steve shrugged, rubbing his forehead.

“ _Rhetorical_ , Steve. Should I get a fucking dictionary for you?”

“Give him a break,” Natasha told Clint, eyes twinkling with mirth. “He’s happy ‘cause he got laid. Let him bask while he can.”

“I hate to think how long it’s been if he’s this happy.”

“Guys…” Steve started in warning, then trailed off when a robotic voice suddenly resounded in his ear piece.

 _You know what’s funny?_ Tony asked. It had taken Steve a while to get used to the way he sounded when talking via Extremis. There was a metallic tone to his voice, not unlike JARVIS; only his intonations were still somewhat the same. _I was five minutes into the meeting with Fury when I noticed that there’s spunk on my pants. What do you have to say for yourself?_

Steve almost choked and could barely contain it. He felt his cheeks heat and glanced sideways, but no reaction came from Nat and Clint. At least Tony had the decency to use a private channel. That wasn’t always the case.

Steve cleared his throat, putting a hand on his earpiece to show he was talking on the com line. Better choose his words wisely.

“If I recall correctly… wrap-up was your job,” he murmured, while leaning sideways as much as he could.

_You on the Quinjet?_

“I am.”

_Nat and Clint next to you?_

“Affirmative.”

A low hum, then, _How are your feeling?_

“Good?” he ventured.

A noise, which Steve could easily identify as the Extremis-version of Tony’s laugh by now. _If that’s all you’re feeling, I haven’t done a very good job._

A smile crossed Steve’s lips. “Very happy.”

Tony hummed. _Me too. Shame we had to hurry like that._

He chuckled, shifting slightly. “Yeah. Believe me, I didn’t want to leave that room ever again.”

Next to him, Clint huffed with a long-suffering expression. Natasha only chuckled softly and boxed him into the side.

_Second that notion. Though I am feeling kind of sticky now._

Steve hummed noncommittally, firmly fighting down the heat rising to his cheeks. “Are you still in the meeting?”

_Sure am._

“So you’re talking with Fury while telling me about the…” He paused and shifted awkwardly. “…crinkles on your pants?”

 _Crinkles?_ came the highly amused reply. At least the tone of Tony’s teasing sounded the same via Extremis. _Nice catch. But I was actually talking about the stickiness in my ass, Steven._

Steve bit down on his lower lip so hard he nearly drew blood. “Tony…”

_That’s my name, yes._

Steve sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Tell you what: You get a reward for paying attention to your meeting now, okay?”

_What kind of reward?_

“The good kind,” Steve offered, and the light intake of breath from Tony’s side told him immediately that he got his meaning.

_You have a dirty mind, Rogers._

Steve was entirely unable to hide his smile. “Me? I’m the one with the…” He cleared his throat, “punctuality issue?”

A snicker. _Sure thing. You sully my virtue._

“Excuse me,” Steve said, forgetting for a moment that he wasn’t exactly alone. “Mr. Let’s-Try-Something-I-Have-Never-Heard-About. We both knew—” He glanced sideways, stopping in mid-sentence when he took in Natasha’s devious grin.

 _Mmm_ , Tony hummed. _All right. I’ll be quiet and pay attention. But Fury’s extra boring today, so I’ll expect you to make it good for me._

A smile flickered across Steve’s face. “Will do.”

There was a sound that was probably meant to be a sigh, though it didn’t even come close to a human one. _All right. Back to the boring stuff. Love you, stay safe, and as always—_

Steve pinched his nose, but intoned anyway, “Don’t step in front of Clint if he’s doing something stupid.”

“Hey,” Clint called, momentarily leaning closer to Steve’s ear. “Fuck you very much, Tony.”

 _Good boy,_ Tony told Steve softly. _Talk to you later._

And with that, the line went dead, leaving Steve to Nat’s and Clint’s bemused stares.

 

* * *

 

“All right,” Steve called out, drawing everyone’s attention to him. “Hawkeye and I are gonna sweep the deck and find Batroc. Widow, you’ll kill the engines and wait for instructions. Rumlow, you and your team sweep aft, find Sitwell and the hostages in the galley. Get them to life pods. Let’s get them out.”

Rumlow nodded and turned around to the other men. “STRIKE, you heard the Captain. Gear up! Secure channel seven.”

“Seven secure.”

“Coming up by the drop zone, Cap.”

He put on his helmet, and with a timely gust of wind, the rear hatch blew open. Natasha slowly edged closer to him. He was close to the Quinjet’s opening now, where the noise was at its loudest.

“I have a secondary mission,” Natasha told him without premonition.

Steve blinked, turning around and looking at her, and then at Clint. He wasn’t paying them any attention. Instead he was sorting through his arrows, quietly talking to Rumlow. “Our mission is to rescue hostages.”

“Yours and Clint’s, yes. Fury ordered me to secure data from the ship’s server.”

There was so much about that sentiment that did not sit well with him.

“Data,” Steve echoed, furrowing his brows. “You mean SHIELD Intel.”

Natasha offered a small, respectful nod. “Yes.”

“We were briefed about this mission. Together.”

Natasha’s gaze averted to her hands. “We were. Fury called me up to his office beforehand. He left it to me to tell you.”

Steve straightened, his hands clenching into fists. Of course Fury would think that the Avengers—especially Natasha and Clint—were still under his jurisdiction first and foremost, despite the fact that they hadn’t been his employees for over a year by now. The Avengers were self-funded and only working for SHIELD on a contractual basis. And with Steve as the team’s leader, Fury had agreed to run every single command through him.

Truthfully, this sort of assignment was usually done without the Avengers’ help. It was all very basic. Charge in, free the hostages, leave. Something Fury only sent them on to allot a breath of fresh air. Maybe Steve should’ve questioned their being here a bit more. If he’d given it more thought, he’d realized there had to be more to it than just a hostage situation.

“How long have you known about this?” he asked slowly. Careful. Tempering his pace as to not over-exert himself just to make a point.

Natasha shrugged. The blankness in her eyes was beginning to unnerve him. She hadn’t put up that mask around him in a while now. “About two days.”

A sigh rang through the air, and it wasn’t pleasant. Steve rolled his head back, closing his eyes for a moment. There would be plenty of time to sit down and discuss Natasha’s commitment towards SHIELD once the more important stakes were met. Right now, his only concern rested with the hostages, and he wasn’t about to go wasting more time. “Fine. Just kill the engine first. We’ll handle the rest without you.”

Natasha nodded her agreement, grabbing for the parachute with a quick movement. Steve had never doubted the probability of Natasha and Clint doing a few side missions for SHIELD while they were helping out in DC. He wouldn’t have minded, he _had_ worked for Fury himself, after all, and he knew about the duo’s obligations.

It was the fact that she hadn’t deemed it necessary to tell him first.

“Right,” Steve said, not quite able to keep the bitter undertone out of it. “I’m off.” And with that, he made his way to the rear opening, gripping for one of the handles next to it.

 _We had a talk about jumping off of things,_ Tony’s voice intoned again. _And yes, before you ask, my meeting’s over._

“How did you…” Steve huffed, cold wind sweeping against his face as he pressed a hand against his earpiece. “Never mind. You promised to remove that tracker.”

_Shucks. Seems like I forgot._

“JARVIS did a scan on me before I left. He cleared me.”

_Well, that’s what you get for ganging up on me with my AI. News flash: J isn’t smarter than me, honey. You really should know better by now._

Steve groaned, irritated. “Seriously, you need to stop tracking my every step.”

 _If you want me to actually feel guilty about this, how about you stop doing things that_ always _justify my means, Captain McFly. I was only half kidding about putting some red white and blue wings onto that uniform._

“The height is fine and you know it. Quit monitoring me,” Steve said and took two strides forward before he was airborne.

A pause, then, _I wish I could at least be there to fly with you,_ Tony said quietly, and there was no angry undertone, only simple regret.

“Me too. Next time I’m in New York, we’ll fly somewhere. Just you and me.”

_Sounds perfect. All right, I’ll leave you to your pirate situation. Gotta catch my flight back to New York or Pepper will flay me alive. Be careful._

“Always am,” Steve promised, before he changed position so he’d land feet-first into the ocean. He pulled both hands to his chest and closed his eyes. A second later, he was crashing into the ice-cold water.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They found the Lemurian Star virtually crowded when they arrived that night, and it was no wonder why. Batroc seemed to have gathered all kinds of mercenaries around him.

Entering the ship via the Helicopter landing pad was easy enough. He had the distinct feeling that his presence rang on the side of unwelcome, but that had never kept him from going in head-first into such situations. He looked around the premise for a moment. The lower level of the Lemurian Star stretched for a good half mile and there was no way to look around without blowing his cover.

All the mercs were wearing at least two guns, and while some looked like they could be trained in hand-to-hand combat, it was more than obvious that they’d be no challenge for him. Then again, they were mercenary soldiers. Mercenary soldiers rarely held any real danger for him.

He moved carefully around the corners, sliding through the shadows at first, his enhanced senses extended as far as they would go. Nothing moved except the wind from the ocean and the odd cloud scutting across the moon.

It wouldn’t stay that way.

As he approached the main hall, Steve changed his long stride into a more stealthy walk, completely quiet as to pull of the sneak attack he was going for. He found a window and, climbing easily to perch just outside the ledge, prepared to attack the first group of mercs. He could hear them speaking with each other, their words coated with incredulity and sending vibes down the corridor. One of the men’s back was turned to him at present. Steve paused very briefly, planning his entrance, before he moved swiftly around the corner.

They stood no chance. No chance at all. He elbowed one hard before choking him, then punched another with his shield. He blocked the swing of the third merc, kneeing him so hard in the gut, he fell down and didn’t get up again, before throwing number four into the railing. The metal links clamored loudly with the impact. He made a feeble try to stand up again, but Steve only took a step back, and watched as one of Clint’s arrows embedded itself into the man’s thigh, sending him to the ground.

“Thanks,” Steve called into the comm, as he ran into the underbridge that’d lead him to the next deck—and the galley.

“My pleasure,” Clint said, and gave him a little salute from where he was perched on the upper-deck landing pad.

“Heading towards second deck,” Steve said. “Widow, what’s your status?”

He heard her let out a short breath, whether in acknowledgment or exasperation he couldn’t tell. “Hang on,” she finally answered.

Decision making from that point was fast paced. Steve spared himself little room for thinking about anything beyond fighting his way across the Lemurian. He rushed up to the top deck, swinging his shield and simultaneously bringing three men down. The place crawled with all sorts of personnel, most of them were Batroc’s men, but a few were obviously just in it for the money. There wasn’t enough time to make ample selection, though, and Steve figured, in the grand scheme of things, they all deserved at least some headache in the morning. They all, while not fully behind Batroc’s cause, were loyal to the innate chaos the Lemurian Star represented.

Disarming the last mercs on his way was simple, since Clint had taken out most of them by the time Steve even got there.

“Targets acquired. STRIKE in position.”

Steve nodded to himself, as he made the last jump for the top level. “Widow, what’s your status?”

“Engine room is secure.”

“Batroc is on the move. Hawkeye, circle back to Rumlow and protect the hostages.”

“Copy,” Clint intoned.

The overall arrival in the galley was anticlimactic, but he had to admit, Batroc was a bit of a surprise. He came out of nowhere, flinging his whole weight against the shield and instantly knocking Steve off his feet. He blocked his first blows, then delivered a punch to his gut and a hopping front snap kick to his jaw. Steve stepped back, amused.

“You are strong.” He landed a solid backhand on him. Batroc went flying. “I’m stronger.”

His technique was almost as good as Steve’s, and that was something that he refused to take lightly. He sat his shield back on his back and flung the helmet on the ground—eternally grateful that Tony was already on his private jet right now, because it was pretty safe to say he wouldn’t approve.

“On va voir.”

They traded a flurry of blows and high punches and Batroc got him right in the stomach, knocking him down some steps. Steve fell and bruised his upper arm on the railing. Batroc flung up his hands against the next blows instinctively, then realized that it was only a deceit. But in his moment of distraction, Steve was able to slam his elbow into Batroc’s neck and knock him out.

After that, it was mostly routine work. They were able to free Sitwell and the rest of the hostages without any casualties; Natasha retrieved whatever data Fury had told her to retrieve and they vacated the premise without any difficulties.

It had been an easy mission, just like Fury had told him it would be.

Easy, but definitely not without consequences.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Steve’s boots clicked against the white marble as he walked up to the elevator. It was still dark outside, and only artificial lights illuminated Washington’s night sky. The air was completely still; the street noises so very far away in that moment, like they belonged to another place and a different time—like the noises of everyday had no business here. Steve watched the night sky around him, hand cradling his shield, brows furrowed in deep thought.

The sun had yet to rise on the horizon, but frankly, the next day couldn’t start soon enough. It had been a hell of a night, and now all he wanted to do—all he craved for—was call Tony and then get a few hours of sleep. But these things were too few and far between, even on a normal day. Any planning he did was second only to what Fury would say in regard to all this. He did not like to doubt his good intentions, but Fury was a spy first and foremost.

Just like Natasha.

And it wasn’t just one thing that bothered Steve. It was the sum-up of a thousand things. He had lost count of the number of times he had arranged a meeting with Fury to discuss SHIELD’s information policy with the Avengers only to feel very tired and decidedly not wiser afterwards.

And now Fury was messing with his team.

Steve sighed and closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall of the elevator. The irony of it all was that he had known this would happen. They were living in a veiled world and just like the rest, Steve did nothing to break free. Working for SHIELD meant that a need-to-know basis had to be enough, and somewhere along the way, this force had manifested within him—and he’d become nothing but a shell of the man who’d come to Washington three months ago.

Times like these, being Captain America caught up with him. Dwelling on the issues with SHIELD brought back a dull throb behind his eyes. He wasn’t sure why he was so surprised. This was what Fury did, right? Keep information close to the heart. This was what all of SHIELD did… what they had always done, even when Steve had been too ignorant to know it. _An intelligence organization that fears intelligence,_ he remembered Tony saying, a lifetime ago.

Yet, after everything that had happened in New York, after Fury had sent Coulson to help them with Aldrich Killian, no questions asked, he’d thought—foolishly, maybe—that things had changed. The Avengers weren’t part of SHIELD anymore, _hadn’t_ been, for a long time. There was no imperative to share information, and yet, Steve had been convinced that they were at least being straightforward with each other whenever they were working together.

Well. It seemed Tony didn’t call him a hopeless optimist for nothing.

A rush of irritation overtook him, the same sense of betrayal that had dogged his thoughts since Fury had tried to play him by putting him into a fake hospital with a fake baseball game welcoming him back to reality.

Leaning against the handrail, Steve watched the dark river below. The night was silent, and for a moment, the whole world seemed completely at peace. And Steve was so tired, tired of this place, tired of being lied to. He let his mind wander back over the last few months. After Aldrich Killian had been defeated, he had almost instantly switched to soldier mode. He had charged ahead when Fury had asked him to help out with training the new STRIKE teams in Washington. Tony hadn’t questioned his decision. He was busy, too. Busy with getting a handle on Extremis, and busy with his newest SI projects. And while both of them hated being apart that often, they’d known it was only temporary, and that they were doing good in the process. They’d both thought it’d be worth it.

He wasn’t so sure anymore.

Steve looked down at the USB-stick in his hand with some trepidation. He didn’t know what kind of SHIELD Intel was on it, but the fact that Fury had tried to leave him in the dark about it, and only trusted his best spy to do the job, was a telling sign if he’d ever seen one.

Natasha had been quiet the whole way home. They were both wrapped up in their own thoughts, neither one of them willing to share at the moment. Steve had a feeling he knew what was going through her head—it wasn’t the first time she’d had to decide between her loyalty to the Avengers and SHIELD—but he hadn’t really wanted to revive the discussion anywhere but inside the safety of their home in New York.

The elevator door slid open. There was a dim light at the foot of the stairs, and he could hear voices coming from Fury’s office. When he reached the foyer, he saw Natasha and Fury standing near the sofa. They were speaking in a hushed whisper. Fury’s lips were drawn together in a thin line, lines of fatigue and temper bracketing his mouth.

Steve drew a deep breath and willed himself closer to the office door. The reaction from those he passed was noteworthy, but otherwise ignored. He knew he probably didn’t look all that happy.

Inside the office, Fury diplomatically offered to show Steve what the Intel was related to. Steve nodded his compliance and made to follow. There were no words. No exchanges. Talking with Fury these days always left Steve with a sour taste in his mouth he couldn’t fully comprehend. And his gut feeling hadn’t lied to him. Steve pursed his lips as he looked up at the new generation Helicarriers and their new weapon system.

_Project Insight._

“These new long range precision guns can eliminate a thousand hostiles in minute. The satellites can read a terrorist’s DNA before he steps outside his spider hole. We gonna neutralize a lot of threats before they even happen.”

The thought, the mere suggestion, made Steve’s stomach churn. His jaw tightened. “I thought the punishment usually came after the crime.”

Fury’s gaze darkened, but he didn’t seem surprised. He knew Steve’s views on punishment without a proper prosecution and what he would or wouldn’t agree on. “We can’t afford to wait that long.”

A part of him had known Fury would take this route, of course. He’d seen it in his face after New York as well as anyone. Whatever time, whatever place, faced with uncontrollable forces, humanity always tried to surround themselves with things they could control.

Fury wasn’t any better. Truth, at times, was easy to overlook in the face of overwhelming obstacles. Rules were changed when circumstances changed.

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“After New York, I convinced the World Security Council that we need a quantum surge on threat analysis. For once we’re way ahead of the curve.”

“By holding a gun at everyone on Earth and calling it protection?” Steve countered, and with that, the battle over semantics fell to a draw. It was easier to speak with Fury in absolutes. Easier to ignore the doubt in his mind—the very real fear that he was playing to the desire of people rather than doing it for the right cause.

“You know, I read those SSR files,” Fury said. “‘Greatest generation?’ You guys did some nasty stuff.”

“Yeah, we compromised. Sometimes in ways that made us not sleep so well. But we did it so that people could be free.” A sigh rolled off his shoulders; he knew he was surprising Fury with the finality of his opposition, though he couldn’t fully understand why. From the beginning, Fury had been tuned into his opinion on these kind of matters. Even before Loki, they’d had these sort of disputes, and Steve had never budged on his beliefs.

“This isn’t freedom,” Steve said, willing Fury to understand. “This is fear.”

The silence that settled thereafter was thick and more than a little disconcerting. Fury’s mouth formed a solemn line and he nodded tightly to himself. Manifest conviction clouded every strain on his face, before he glanced away to the Helicarriers. “SHIELD takes the world as it is, not as we’d like it to be. It’s getting damn near past time for you get with the program, Cap.”

“Right,” Steve said with a huff, flexing his shoulders. At least Fury was blunt and honest about it. And still. Things had gone far enough, and he was through with waiting at the sidelines, ducking his head when things weren’t sitting right with him. “I’m going back to New York. I will talk to Agent Rumlow myself. Have him take over Strike Delta.”

Fury blinked, not attempting to conceal his astonishment. “Come again?”

“The Avengers are not part of SHIELD. This is not my area of responsibility,” Steve continued and shot Fury a meaningful glare. “And this goes both ways, Nick. Next time you send one of my team members on a mission without telling me first, I will not let it slide that easily.”

Fury blinked. That he had not been expecting. “Was that a threat, Rogers?”

Steve shook his head, slowly. “You know… when the WSC fired that nuke on New York, you did something they told you not to do, simply because it was the right thing, and I respect you for that.” He paused and drew in a deep breath. “I’d hoped it would also make you reconsider taking the line of least resistance.”

He turned the USB stick around between his fingers one more time, before handing Fury the device.

“Just like that?” Fury asked slowly, his eye narrowing.

“Well, forgive me my delusions. Understand that it has been a very long week.”

Fury huffed. “You got that right.” There was a meek edge to his voice and Steve felt his anger deflate somewhat.

“It’s not helping… my being here. I’m just the rain on the parade.” He paused, his hand on the railing as he glanced up at the Helicarriers. For weeks, Tony had been elbow-deep into constructing the new repulsor engines. He hadn’t known about the weapons, though. Steve was sure of that. Tony wouldn’t keep something like that from him. “I won’t agree on this. You don’t need me.”

With that, Steve headed for the elevators and was not surprised when his move did not inspire an objection. The distance between them at that moment seemed too magnanimous for any further discussions.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He’d known Natasha would wait for him. She leaned casually against his motorcycle, giving him one of the blank smiles he hated seeing on her—especially after he’d already seen her bursting out into giggly little laughing fits numerous times. Nobody said a word until Steve had secured his saddlebag to the bike’s bag mount.

“You don’t seem too bothered,” Natasha offered.

_Can’t be bothered when I’m not surprised._

That wasn’t entirely true, but it changed nothing. “I’m going home,” he told her quietly, then looked up. “You and Clint coming with me?”

There was an appropriately lengthened pause. The conclusion was all the same, he guessed. It was merely a matter of getting there. “Yes,” Natasha answered eventually. “We’ll stay for another mission, though. Phil asked for our help. We’ll be back in two weeks.”

Steve sighed, but nodded. He knew he could be overprotective when it came to his team, but this wasn’t the time. “What’s another mission, right?”

Natasha smiled that quiet smile of hers. It didn’t seem to be quite as false this time around. “You’d be surprised.”

“Something tells me I wouldn’t.” Steve shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck to worry out the kinks. Perhaps he’d been able to fool himself for a while—not anymore. “I just can’t do this anymore. Serving without asking. I don’t know how you do it—”

“I don’t,” Natasha told him with a hard face. “I told you about my mission, didn’t I?”

“When I couldn’t have made a different call anymore, yes.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Natasha retorted, something like frustration flashing within her green eyes. “I don’t know what you want to hear, or what I can say that you haven’t heard already.”

“I can’t trust Fury,” Steve remarked. “Not like this.”

“I’m not asking you to trust him blindly, Steve. I’m asking you to cut him a little slack.”

“Why should I?”

There was silence at that.

Natasha crossed her arms and jutted her chin at him, eyes dark and serious. “Look, SHIELD’s modus operandi might have changed since we stepped out, but they’re still playing on our side. _Fury_ is on our side. He’s a good man.”

A sigh rolled off his shoulders. “He’s still wrong about this. He’s been wrong about this since I met him.”

Her eyes softened. “Steve—”

“I have seen people being put in camps because they were named _potential_ threat to national security. Fury is trying to stop something before it even started. Based on what? He makes compromises because he is afraid of losing control. And this is the exact behavior that wills war into existence.” The tone of his own voice startled him with its conviction, his heart straining to be heard. That was a lesson learned the hard way. A lesson he would never allow himself to forget. “This is why I need to know where your loyalties are. I need to be able to trust that you’re not keeping information from me.”

Natasha held his gaze for a few seconds before breaking eye contact. A small silence fell between them, and it felt different. It felt like an acknowledgement that everything was about to change. “There’s always gonna be a part of me I can’t share with you.”

“We’ve already—”

“I know we’ve talked about this, but it just… you don’t understand.”

“I only expect honesty from you, is that really too much to ask?”

She held his gaze a beat longer, then sighed her resignation and glanced back to the pavement. “Sometimes.” She shrugged. “It’s just the way I am.”

“And to keep trying is the way I am.”

Natasha smiled at him with a soft expression. “I think I’ll never fully understand you, Rogers.”

The look in her eyes gave him pause. There was so much conviction. A firm belief that, when it came to honesty, they’d never be on the same page. And he had to force himself to ignore the voice that commanded him to pull her in a hug, because her words haunted him with truth.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The second the sun rose over the horizon, Steve drove his motorcycle onto the curb in front of the Triskelion, shoving a hand into his leather jacket where Tony’s favorite screwdriver waited for him to fiddle with it’s handle.

So, he’d agreed to leave it be. Let SHIELD handle whatever it was they were hiding. It wasn’t what he wanted, but he understood the wisdom behind caution. The last thing he wanted was to jeopardize their alliance with SHIELD because he didn’t trust Fury. So he agreed to let Fury research and come to the necessary conclusions himself. And he agreed to wait because it made everyone breathe easier to think he wouldn’t fly off the handle.

He’d agreed because it was the smart thing to do, even if his heart didn’t agree.

It had been a long day. Completely surreal, too. He kept expecting to blink and find himself back in his and Tony’s penthouse, but the harsh reality remained—the world wasn’t going to change. He’d only been back on solid ground for four hours, and it already seemed years had passed since he’d held Tony in his arms that morning. He hadn’t even had a chance to take him aside or ask how he felt—ask any of the burning questions regarding SHIELD that had been lodged in his throat for weeks now.

God, he missed him so much.

He missed talking to Tony, hearing his thoughts, and his worries. He missed their arguments that drove him out of his mind most of the time, but always made him realize an aspect he hadn’t considered before. He hadn’t fully realized how accustomed he’d become to hearing Tony’s perspective, but that’s how it was. They often had different opinions, and sharing them with each other usually wasn’t pleasant business, but that’s what you got when you were honest with each other. And Steve preferred being yelled at from time to time, when it meant they weren’t keeping the important stuff from one another.

He _knew_ Tony’s flaws. He’d made a study of them when Tony’d been his mission subject, and now, in love with him as he was, Steve knew his quirks intimately. And he loved him for them. They made Tony real—made him human, despite the fact that with Extremis, he was so much more now, too. The way he—genius brain notwithstanding—still acted on emotion rather than thought, even if he refused to admit it. The way his nose scrunched up when he realized a mistake. The way his eyes were slightly pinched when he felt a bit too almighty. Tony was brilliant, clever, and so full of flaws that it made Steve realize why loving someone had never truly been real before him.

Tony wasn’t an ideal. And that’s why he was perfect.

Steve sighed, steering the motorcycle on the next drive-up, heading for Langston instead of home. It was an unusually quiet morning in Washington, and he was thankful for that. There were breaking points, and then there were Breaking Points. This clearly was the latter and he supposed, taking one thing at a time was likely the easiest way to get through the next days. He’d need to wrap up a few things at SHIELD before going back to New York. He’d have to talk to Rumlow, Coulson and Clint. Make them understand why he needed to leave for the time being.

And he needed to say goodbye to someone else, which meant atop everything else, the day would be another trial on his mind.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Since living in Washington, he’d sat next to this bed too many nights to count. There was a heap of clean laundry piled on the floor, the closet door hung slightly ajar, a few purses hanging loosely around the doorknob. The photographs on the nightstand told the story of a life well lived, and there was a pair of pumps resting beside the nightstand, with impressive heels for a ninety-year-old woman. But then again, this was  _Peggy_ . This room wasn’t dead, not by a long shot; its owner was just missing occasionally.

Familiar pinpricks stung his eyes at the thought. With a heavy sigh, he turned to look down at her sleeping form once more. The gentle cadence of her soft breaths reverberated through the walls with a soft air of peace he envied.

What he missed most was her unimpressed face, though, complete with crossed arms and suspicious eyes. Her cute ‘don’t-mess-with-me’ attitude that had made him fall a little harder for her every time. It was no use. When she’d wake up, she wouldn’t be there.

“I could really use some advice, Pegs.”

Unexpectedly, Peggy stirred at the sound of his voice. Slowly, she opened her still beautiful blue eyes and reached for his hand. She didn’t make a sound, and Steve watched as her mouth fell open, mimicking the shape of the words he spoke.

“Sorry,” Steve said, smiling. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Now that you did, you might as well make use of it,” she said, sliding her tongue over her dry lips. Steve smiled at her words and handed her the glass of water, watching her drink. She remembered him. Today was a good day, then.

“I’m being dramatic again,” Steve told her softly.

“Oh _no_ ,” Peggy said in mock-drama and with a light chuckle. “That’s usually followed by you doing something drastic like… crashing a plane into the Atlantic.”

Steve snorted with surprise, before barking out a real laugh. “You’re exaggerating, that was one time.”

Peggy rolled her eyes at that, and ran a hand through her white hair. “Oh I almost forgot,” she said, and Steve could _swear_ she’d been winking at him—before she reached for a small, aged photograph on the coffee table. She pulled it close to her chest so Steve wouldn’t be able to look at it. “My grandson found this in the library. I think I once stole it from Howard.”

Steve’s brows perked. “Stealing things from a Stark? I’m impressed.”

Peggy wiggled a bit at that, her cheeks flushing. “I didn’t steal it so much as I… took it without letting him know. It’s one of your boy’s.”

Steve huffed at that, crossing his arms. “You know he’s fifteen years older than me, don’t you?”

Peggy smirked, and it made her look so young for a moment it hurt. “Sorry, Steve,” she replied, “you got about a century on him. Besides,” she leaned back and held the photograph up, looking at it with a soft expression. “Once you change someone’s diapers, he’ll always be the little one for you.”

She handed him the faded photograph, and Steve couldn’t stop the amused little sound leaving his mouth as he looked down on baby Tony giggling, drooling and biting on some plush toy that looked a lot like a wrench.

He’d never gotten his hands on a private picture of Tony as a baby. There were only the professional photo-shoots Maria and Howard had made him go through in the early years, and then, everything the paparazzi had caught him doing. Tony’s life wasn’t anything but well documented, but this… this was something rare, something special.

“Thank you,” he said. “It’s so crazy that you watched him grow up. I forget that, sometimes.”

“And you’ll be there for the rest of it,” she mused with a soft sigh. Peggy met his eyes again and they shared a small, private smile. “I’m so happy for you.”

She’d told him that several times by now and it never got old. He felt warmth spread through him.

“You have no idea how much that means to me,” he told her earnestly, squeezing her hand.

“You have to bring him with you sometime. I’d love to talk to him. It’s been far too long.”

Steve cringed, and bowed his head so he wouldn’t let it show too much. Tony had visited Peggy a couple of times in the last months. Almost every time, Peggy asked about their wedding—and Tony, amazingly, told her about it with the same amount of enthusiasm. There was never any sign of annoyance on his face, and he never made her doubt that he didn’t have the time of his life telling her about the ceremony, the dancing, the honeymoon. His excitement never seemed anything but genuine, and Steve fell a little bit more in love with him every time.

“He’ll love to,” Steve assured her and squeezed her hand. “The photo, can I—”

“Of course,” Peggy said. “Not much use with me, has it?”

Steve furrowed his brows, looking down on their entwined hands. “Don’t say that.”

“Oh Steve,” Peggy whispered and slowly raised her right hand to cup Steve’s cheek. “It’s not your job to save everyone, you know? It’s not your job to—to…”

Steve looked up at that, staring down in her unfocused blue eyes. He could pinpoint the exact moment when he lost her again. One moment she was here, and then she was gone.

“Stay with me,” he whispered, foolishly, he knew. It wasn’t fair to ask this of her. It wasn’t her fault.

He hadn’t even managed to tell her he’d leave the city tomorrow.

Her eyes met his after a moment, almost apologetic. As though she could tell what he was trying to accomplish… and perhaps she could. There was a sad wisdom in her eyes. The face of a woman who had tried everything in her power to remember… once upon a time.

“Steve?” Peggy asked, and her hands started to tremble.

Steve exhaled deeply, gaze finding her blank one, heart breaking at the flecks of confusion and shock clouding her blue eyes as she looked him up and down. He smiled bravely. “Yes, Peggy. I’m back.”

A long stillness settled between them—Peggy’s eyes now darting from his face to the photograph in his hands. She worried her lower lip between her teeth and made a humming sound.

“I think I once stole that from Howard.”

Steve smiled softly and kissed her cheek. “That you did, Pegs.”


	2. Out Of The Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me for the third installment. I hope you'll enjoy this part, it's probably the most explicit thing I've ever written *hides* x.x Thanks to the lovely [morphia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/morphia/pseuds/morphia) for betaing.

Pepper’s arms were folded tightly across her chest and her face was twisted in a furious, heated mask. Her body vibrated as her dangling right foot moved rapidly up and down. Every once in a while, she’d close her eyes and take a deep breath and it was during those moments that Tony thought she might finally calm down but then she’d open her eyes, take one look at him and start the process all over again.

“I’m sorry,” Tony said with a hint of irritation. The look that flashed in her green eyes at that made him think she’d stab him with her fork any second. “I _am_. But I still stand by what I said.”

Her head whipped towards him and she said, emphasizing every word by slamming her hand on the table, “It’s not about _what_ you said. It’s about _how_ you said it!”

Tony sighed, opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off.

“You can’t do that!”

Tony huffed. “You know just as well as I do that we can’t have the board clinging to weapon’s productions. Not right now. Not when we’re a week from launching the arc reactor.”

At that, Pepper squinted up at him, sighing. “I’m _aware_ of our situation, Tony. I told you, it’s not about the what—”

“They provoked me!”

“Then don’t let them!”

Tony sighed. “Pep, sweetheart—”

“Oh, don’t you ‘sweetheart’ me. I’m your CEO! I’m supposed to lead this company and I can’t do that if you’re stepping behind my back and mucking everything up!”

He rolled his eyes and sat back in his seat. “Look, I tried to stay calm, I really did, but they couldn’t be reasoned with. This is everything we have worked for in the last year, and if they plan to boycott every single decision we’re making, then I can’t do anything but—”

“—tell them to go shove their sniper rifles where the sun don’t shine? _Are you serious?!”_

There was a heavy pause. Tony sighed as he looked up again. “I admit, I might’ve taken a step too far there, but… I can’t let them destroy everything we worked for all these years.”

Pepper groaned. “God, don’t do _that_.”

Tony blinked, taken aback. “Do what?”

“That thing with your eyes. I swear to God you copied Steve’s puppy dog eyes, it’s like they silently beg me to love you.” The tension that had been in her voice slowly lifted with her last statement and she even smiled as she looked at him.

Tony reached his free hand across the table to grab hers. Then, he pulled it to his lips and pressed a quick kiss to her knuckles. “Please don’t be mad at me.” He was probably laying it on a bit thick now, jutting his lower lip out and batting his lashes to see if he could save himself from receiving the sharp end of Pepper’s heels.

She’d caught onto it, though. It was _Pepper_ , after all. “Don’t try to sweet talk me. I may love you but that doesn’t mean you can just get away with insulting my board of directors.”

He huffed and crossed his arms, toeing the table stand with his boot as he stared at the food between them. “We’re doing the right thing,” he told her quietly.

“I know we’re doing the right thing, it’s the board that doesn’t get it.”

Tony smirked at that. He looked down at his watch, wondering if Steve would already be at home by now. He sighed, throwing his head back and staring at the ceiling. “Honestly, it’s a wonder I’m even functioning these days. You could say something nice about that for a change.”

A slow, wicked smile spread across Pepper’s face. “Aw, you’re right. I know this is all so very hard for you: Living with a bunch of superheroes who miraculously happen to put up with your bullshit every day. Having a husband who loves you, only seeing him on the weekends…”

“It is!” He sat up again and swirled his cup of coffee around, probably looking like a five-year old about to throw a tantrum. “These past months have been horrible. All I want to do is be in my big empty penthouse, lie in my big empty bed and wallow in self-pity. It’s a wonder I even made it to the meeting.”

Pepper tried not to smile, but didn’t succeed at all.

“I’m serious,” Tony continued, smiling flirtatiously. “I’m making an effort here. All for you. I even read the notes you gave me! Give me some credit, Potts.”

Pepper scoffed fondly. “You’re not as charming as you think you are.”

“Lies! I’m _dashing_ ,” he said and then, a little more serious, “You’re the only reason I haven’t dissolved into a big puddle of unhappiness by now.”

“Oh, Tony,” Pepper said with a low laugh.

Tony felt a lump in his throat and he swallowed, his tone turning more serious when he said, “I mean it. You keep me sorted out, these days.”

Pepper sighed softly, squeezing his hand in return. “It’s only temporary. He’ll be back home soon enough.”

“I know. I just hate sleeping alone,” he said, then winced. “Don’t tell Steve I said that.”

She chuckled. “Oh, don’t worry. I wouldn’t dream of bursting the perfect macho picture your husband has of you.” She tilted her head in thought, then, staring at a nonexistent spot on the table for a moment, before smiling at Tony. “You know what? Go back to DC, be with Steve. I’ll cancel all your meetings tomorrow. We all need a few days to cool off anyway. This is too important to chance it.”

Tony pursed his lips, sighing. “I really am sorry. I didn’t want to make this harder on you. I just… I can’t let them think for so much as a _second_ that it’s okay to use the arc reactor as an opportunity to bring weapons back in the picture. I’m done playing their golden goose. They need to learn to work for their money instead of trying to blackmail me.”

She thought about that for a moment, then nodded. “You’re right. About all of it. Just, _please_ Tony—”

“—don’t threaten the board. Yeah, I got it.” He smiled reassuringly at her and leaned back in his chair, keeping one hand entwined with hers.

“Good.” She nodded, taking a deep, calming breath. “I still need you, you know?”

He had to pretend there was something in his eyes when she said that. If she knew the effect those words had on him these days, she didn’t show it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Tony directed the Iron Man suit north, then took the first exit into Eastern Market. He flew up Pennsylvania Ave, turning onto Capitol Hill. Smoothly, he cut a corner between two buildings and came to a stop on the next crossroad, hovering in the air.

Steve’s apartment was in the second building from the corner, within walking distance of the Smithsonian and National Gallery. It was secluded and out of the way, and while the area was somewhat world famous, it had a small town charm that he knew reminded Steve of his childhood home in Brooklyn. Which was probably the reason why Steve had bought the tiny apartment in the first place.

They’d both agreed that Steve wouldn’t keep his old SHIELD apartment, since—technically—he wasn’t working for SHIELD anymore. Instead, he got a place of his own. The apartment was ridiculously small, bleak and sparsely furnished, and had been empty since he effectively moved to New York two years ago. Tony’d offered to buy him a larger one—hell, he’d offered to buy him a mansion in Spring Valley. But no, Steve remained adamant that he didn’t need any luxuries when being in DC and thus, every time Tony came to visit, he practically had to sleep on top of Steve because the damn bed was just that small.

Not that Tony minded all that much.

None of the utilities were bought in Steve’s name. He’d used his mother’s maiden name, a trick he’d learned while being trained as an undercover spy, as far as Tony knew. Natasha always told all of them how important it was to have a safe place, a place no one knew they had; a bolthole in case something went majorly wrong.

The suit rushed to the ground, coming to a perfectly executed stop on one of the small side streets, a few corners away from Steve’s apartment. By now, Mark Forty-Two worked beautifully, its prehensile technology integrating perfectly with Extremis and Tony’s nervous system. Within a blink of the eye, the suit bled back into Tony’s body, leaving him in a sharp black suit and a blue dress shirt he’d worn for his meetings today. Tony walked up to Steve’s building and once he arrived at the front door, he turned the key, jogging up the steps to the second floor.

Steve’s apartment was not completely dark, owing to the fact that the curtains were open and a not insignificant amount of moonlight was pouring in from the four big ceiling-to-floor windows. Two large bags leaned against one of the empty bookshelves and there were several moving boxes on the floor. Otherwise, the apartment was completely emptied out.

Huh.

Granted, he hadn’t exactly told Steve that he’d visit today. After Pepper had cancelled all of his meetings, he’d called Iron Man to him and opted to surprise his husband.

The only problem was—said husband wasn’t home.

He also seemed to be in the middle of moving.

“Steve?” Tony called, frowning as he paced the length of the hallway, pausing periodically to look down on the various books that were deposited in the large boxes. He remembered how much Steve had looked forward to reading some of the new political thrillers Natasha and Bruce had gifted him with for Christmas. The books had clearly not been opened once.

At a loss as to what else to do, Tony picked up the stack of mail that Steve had left in its usual place on the cupboard. He rifled through the letters with only the mildest of interest—he could already see from the envelope that those were SHIELD reports Steve had filled out and were not worth opening.

Tony sighed heavily. He walked into the living room and dropped, a little disappointed, onto the couch. His gaze swept through the empty room, frowning at the boxes once more. Steve would’ve told him about this, Tony was sure of it. Unless, of course, this was a spur of the moment decision, in which case, something would have gone wrong on his latest mission.

Tony pondered giving Steve’s reports a look after all, but decided against it. He’d return home eventually, and it was better to hear Steve’s version, and not the formal one he’d written down for SHIELD.

The physical and emotional stress of the board meeting this morning sneaked up on him, and now that Tony finally had a minute to himself, he felt how much his feet and back—his whole body—ached. He yawned loudly and stretched his arms high above his head, wincing when his shoulders made a popping sound.

Nope, he really wasn’t getting any younger.

Hours later, Tony jolted awake as he heard Steve’s tread on the stairs. Immediately, he noticed how his footfalls were slower than usual, heavier, as if he was very tired or very deep in thought. Tony glanced at the clock. It was well past midnight.

The door creaked softly, and a moment later, Steve stepped into the foyer. He didn’t look around at all, only threw his keys on a little side table and set his shield down next to them. His expression was a sharp contrast to the good mood he’d been in when Tony had last seen him at the Triskelion yesterday. Steve had barely been able to keep his hands off Tony, smiling and laughing his way to the supply closet they’d sneaked into, _holding hands_ with him as they’d made their way through the hallways. He’d been in his uniform, then, every hair had been in place, every button fastened, every crease crisply starched. Now, he was still wearing his uniform, but he looked as though a truck had hit him, his shoulders slouched and tired. His eyes looked weary, and his hair was a wild tumble.

Tony was about to stand up and make his presence known, ask what the hell was going on here, but Steve had already turned around and walked across the hallway. The next second, he slipped into the bathroom and a moment later, the shower faucet came on.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Tony must’ve fallen asleep again. Fingers were tracing his cheek, and someone was whispering his name. “Come on, wake up. That can’t be comfortable.”

A small grumpy yawn left Tony’s lips, but he forced himself awake. Sure enough, his head was craned back in an awkward and entirely painful way. The apartment was still dark, and Steve was kneeling before him, his face illuminated by the dull light of the arc reactor, while he was caressing Tony’s neck in slow strokes. He was wearing gray sweats and a blue t-shirt now, his blonde hair still somewhat damp from the shower. His blue eyes were very large as he looked up at him.

Christ, Steve just had the most gorgeous eyes.

“Can’t believe you’re here,” Steve murmured, and leaned up to press a lingering kiss to Tony’s lips. “Didn’t expect to see you again before next Friday.”

“Surprise?” Tony offered, sitting up with a little wince. “Pepper cancelled all my meetings and gave me a day off so… Where have you been?”

“Had a meeting with Pierce,” Steve said and dropped onto the couch. He wound an arm around Tony’s shoulder and pulled him closer.

“Mmm,” Tony hummed. That would explain the bad mood he was in. Talking with Pierce would do that to you.

They both stared into the distance for a moment, before Tony made a small gesture, encompassing the boxes in front of them. “So…” he prompted.

A pause. “I’m coming back to New York.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Tony said and wet his lips. “What brought this on?”

Steve sighed. A heavy, drawn-out sigh. He sank forward suddenly, elbows on his knees, and head falling into his waiting hands. “I just…” He shook his head and fell silent for a moment, palpably searching for words. “I thought I could do this. Come back here, just do what Fury asks of me, and… I can’t.”

Tony frowned and ran a hand down Steve’s back. “You wanna talk about it?”

A quiet, bitter laugh rushed over Steve’s lips. “Sometimes I think he only asked me to help out here to see if I’d jump.” He huffed. “And I did. I jumped.”

There was a short pause before Tony found his voice, but nothing could keep the disbelief from leaking into his voice. “Honey—it’s not a character fault that you’re willing to help. You came here to do good—”

“Yeah, while wearing blinders. While _knowingly_ wearing blinders,” Steve said grimly, eyes narrowing at Tony through his detachment, composed but more troubled than ever.

“You’re being awfully hard on yourself. What the hell happened?”

“I—” Steve started, then averted his eyes. It was small, nearly indiscernible, but it was there. A flicker of worry and a waver in his confident stance. He couldn’t remember ever having seen Steve like this. Like he was doubting the very foundation of his being.

“Stop devaluing yourself. It’s not like you and frankly, it’s freaking me out.”

Steve huffed, giving him a crooked and entirely forced smile. The vulnerability in his expression would have floored Tony were he not already sitting. “It might be nothing. It’s just been a long day,” Steve said, and then his free hand landed on Tony’s knee, squeezing lightly. His other hand slid up Tony’s arms, fingers threading through his hair. “And I don’t really want to think about this right now…”

Tony frowned but nodded his understanding anyway. If Steve needed some time to sort through whatever had happened, it was fine. And he _did_ look exhausted. “Sure… Let’s just go to bed. Or, you know, bench, in your case, we can sleep and—”

“No.” The word was short, abrupt, but definitive. “That’s not what I meant,” Steve murmured, and let the hand on Tony’s knee trail upwards until Steve was cupping his dick through his dress pants.

Oh, well.

And the next thing Tony knew, his back was pressed into the couch. Steve straddled his knees and before Tony could say something to that, Steve’s tongue had already plundered his mouth.

“Steve—”

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Steve breathed against Tony’s lips. It was the same aching desperation that he’d kissed him with yesterday—the sort of desperation that came with too many hours being alone, and too much pent-up energy. But back then, Steve’s lips had curled upward then in a futile, however endearing attempt to keep from smiling. His kisses had been insistent, and full of relief and joy.

Steve wasn’t smiling now, and his mouth was more demanding than ever. He nipped at Tony’s lips, sucked his tongue desperately between his teeth and cradled Tony’s face between his large hands. The way Steve pressed against him—eyes firmly closed, his fingers diving into Tony’s hair with frantic movements—made every cognitive thought clock out for the evening. Steve moaned, clutching at Tony almost too hard, tilting his head the other way to suck on his bottom lip, and they broke away simultaneously to catch their breath.

Not that Tony was complaining, really, Steve’s enthusiasm in the bedroom was his favorite thing ever, but what in _God’s name_ had happened since this morning?

“ _Steve_ …”

Steve only grunted, grinding his erection against Tony’s abdomen and tucking his dress shirt out of his pants.

Tony pulled back somewhat, forcing Steve to look into his eyes. “Okay, I get it. You want sex, which I’m completely on board with, just… you’re obviously distressed and I feel like I should be worrying about that first. Maybe you need to—”

“What I _need_ ,” Steve said softly, tightening his hold around Tony, “is to not think for a little while. I need to… get out of my own head. Please…”

Tony stared at him for a long, lost moment. Then he nodded. They could probably still talk about this afterwards.

Steve wasted no time and once more sealed the space between them, seizing Tony’s wrists with one hand, and pressing down against him. His other hand pried open Tony’s fly, and the next thing Tony knew, his cock leapt into Steve’s big, warm hand. A long, decidedly high-pitched moan tore from Tony’s lips and his head flew back against the couch cushion. While Steve’s right hand tightened around him, the other fought to shove his black dress pants down.

Steve’s mouth hovered over Tony’s, his blue eyes imploring, when he whispered, like a secret, “I’d really like to have you inside me.” His lips found Tony’s throat, and with the way Steve’s voice trembled, Tony would’ve given him anything.

They didn’t do it this way around all that often. In fact, Tony could count the times he’d fucked Steve on one hand, but every time he did, Steve was more than eager. Tony knew that Steve normally liked to be in control, to have Tony panting and moaning beneath him. And the fact that Steve had decided to give that up from time to time meant so much to Tony he couldn’t put it in words.

Tony nodded, mindless with need now that he knew where this was going, before he hissed and threw his head back. Above him, Steve was still stroking his erection, his eyes dark with lust. God, Steve knew him as he’d always dreamed someone would know him. As one of his hands occupied itself with Tony’s cock, fingertips skimming its underside, the other was dropping to explore his balls with leisure. That was, until Steve moved downwards and drew the swollen head of his cock between his lips and sucked hard.

And without warning, Tony’s body went on autopilot. His fingers wove through Steve’s hair, drawing it out of his face, so he could see Steve’s pink lips stretched around his dick. He drove his hips upward, demanding more. More of Steve. More of his mouth. Steve’s tongue swept over his aching head, suckling at the beads of precum gathered there, his lips curling and wandering further down Tony’s length.

“If you keep that up, I’m not gonna make it to the main event, babe,” Tony grunted after a moment, because Steve might be able to go for a second, third, or fourth round, but once was pretty much it for him.

Steve pulled back obediently, giving Tony’s cock a parting kiss. Then, he cast Tony a fleeting look before he turned around and bent over the arm rest. With quick movements, he tugged his sweatpants down to his thighs and pulled a little bottle of lube out of the left pocket. He coated two fingers with it before he threw it back down on the couch. Then, he let his hand slide its way back up his thighs to finger his hole, spreading the lubricant there. Steve gasped and reached out to grab the edge of the couch, then got his knees under him, pushing his ass in Tony’s direction.

God, Steve might not have a lot of experience with bottoming, but he sure as hell knew how be pushy when he needed it.

“Show-off,” Tony said with an entirely strangled voice and made to move forward, grabbing Steve by the back of the neck, pushing him further down. Steve conceded with a sigh, glancing back at him over his shoulders and pressing both hands into the armrest. Tony dropped to his knees behind Steve, spreading his ass cheeks apart with both hands. He pushed a finger into him and it went in easily enough, but not without resistance. “All right, then,” he murmured and opened the bottle of lube again.

“Just get inside me,” Steve said, grunting irritably when Tony moved his fingers languidly from side to side to spread him wider. “I can take it.”

“Sure you can, stud,” Tony murmured with a sly smile. “But I actually plan for you to enjoy this.”

Tony saw one of Steve’s hands slide between his legs, and squeezed his ass in command. Steve huffed, exasperated, but dropped his arm, anyway. “Hurry up, then,” he ground out, not even trying to hide his annoyance, then began to shove back on Tony’s fingers with impatient movements. He was bracing one hand against the backrest, the other curled around the side frame as he took Tony’s fingers, thighs starting to tremble after a while.

Steve certainly was the most bossy bottom Tony had ever slept with and… God, he loved every second of it.

“Come _on_ ,” Steve demanded, his head hanging low now. When Tony pulled his fingers free, Steve’s back arched. He groaned, loud and unashamed and beautiful, before his head turned aside to glance at him again. His eyes were glassy, his face flushed, and Tony leaned forward to kiss him deeply.

“You want it?” he whispered into his ear, while he made quick work of his tie and dress shirt, throwing both on the floor. As soon as the arc reactor was laid bare, the dark surrounding was cast into a soft, blue light, bathing Steve’s skin with it.

Steve groaned, and not in pleasure. “Tony, _I swear to God_ , if you gonna tease me now, I’ll just—”

Tony only rolled his eyes and interrupted Steve by pressing the head of his cock firmly against Steve’s opening. “No time for sweet-talk, got it.”

Steve exhaled a surprised breath, his ass lifting a bit to give Tony better access. And _Jesus_ , there was nothing quite like the sight of a grown, bulky man squirming with the need of getting filled. To see all that superhuman strength surrender to him…

“I’ve got you,” he whispered and everything in Steve relaxed all at once. Tony smiled at the gesture, and then he pushed inside Steve, one fluid thrust, grunting as his warmth surrounded him. When he was fully seated, he pressed soft kisses on Steve’s spine, and set a sweet and slow pace, pivoting his hips just so.

“So good,” Steve said with closed eyes, moaning softly as Tony continued to drag his cock in and out of him. After a moment, he started to push back, as always picking up the rhythm with ease. “Come on.”

“Need it rough, do you?” Tony asked. He didn’t wait for a reply, though, didn’t need to—every part of Steve was speaking volumes of how bad he needed to let off some steam. So he sped up, gripping Steve’s shoulders tight. He buried his face in Steve’s throat as his hips smashed against him, pushing him further into the couch.

“More,” Steve repeated mindlessly, over and over again, and Tony complied by thrusting into him as hard as he possibly could.

Steve’s eyes were closed, mouth open in absolute arousal, his torso bowed deliciously. “God, you’re beautiful when you’re taking it,” Tony grunted. “And you’re always taking it so well. So fucking well.”

The pitch of Steve’s moans rose and fell with every jerk of Tony’s hips, and Tony didn’t know how much longer he was going to last at that pace. He couldn’t remember ever having fucked someone this hard, and Steve loved every second of it. His upper body was slumped forward in perfect submission, his forehead pressed into the armrest. Tony watched intently as he was panting, digging his fingers into the cushion so hard his knuckles turned white.

Steve was always beautiful when lost in pleasure, biting his lips as he did, whole body quivering, but this was something different entirely. He was enthralled by the stretch of Steve’s ass around him, the way it was clenching around him so good. And _God_ , Tony loved the knowledge that he was the only one who got to see this side of Steve. He wanted to mark his perfect skin, etch himself so deep into Steve’s bones he’d never get him out again.

For a long time, even before they’d gotten together, Tony had tried to imagine what it would feel like to fuck Steve. To have all that strength at his hands. He knew it would be amazing. How could it not be amazing? But this… God, this was so much better. Steve was perfect. And they were perfect together. Tony watched his cock disappear inside of Steve, watched his ass move up and down his length. Eventually, he felt the telltale sign of Steve’s thighs starting to shake, so he leaned down to kiss both of his shoulder blades, and dropped his hands to Steve’s hips to slow him down a bit.

“Come on,” Steve whined, propping himself up on his hands. And then he was looking at Tony over his broad shoulder, and Tony had to keep himself from laughing at the disgruntled look on Steve’s face. “I’m so close.”

“You’re ridiculously hot when you’re desperate, you know that?”

Steve had the audacity to roll his eyes at him. “I wouldn’t _be_ desperate if you were doing your job.”

Tony’s hips surged forward once, driving into Steve hard and staying there. “Like that?”

Steve groaned, half annoyance, half want. Tony leaned forward and the position made their kiss a little awkward and sloppy but fuck if he cared. His fingers resumed their movement, caressing the skin of Steve’s back, then his stomach, purposely ignoring Steve’s dick as he moved them back to his ass, fingering the stretched skin of Steve’s hole as he started to languidly slide in and out of him again. His pace was slow, now, but he gave each movement as much momentum as he could. He let his fingers trail up to Steve’s back and watched him curl into his touch like a cat.

“Tony…” Steve moaned and he his voice broke on the second syllable.

“Let go, baby,” Tony murmured softly, clutching Steve as close as he could. “I know you can. I’ve got you.”

At that, Steve’s breath shot from his mouth as he started to come, completely untouched. Tony shut his eyes with how much Steve was squeezing him and jerked forward, thrusting into him hard, feeling Steve quake and tremble beneath him. His lips opened against Steve’s shoulder blade to groan into his skin. Everything stopped for a few perfect little seconds, and then Tony’s orgasm took him as he spilled into Steve, hissing as his body tightened around him further.

Eventually, he couldn’t hold his own weight anymore and slumped against Steve’s back. He breathed heavily, body exhausted, as he pressed little kisses against Steve’s neck with reverie.

“That was amazing,” he mumbled into Steve’s skin, laughing a bit with how light-headed he felt.

Steve only grunted something unintelligible, before he dropped his whole body down over the armrest, taking Tony down with him. He looked completely winded, slack jawed and Tony draped his arms around Steve’s upper body drunkenly, smiling at him with contentment. There still was a certain measure of glee in the knowledge that he had the power to render Captain America temporarily useless.

Eventually, Tony pulled out of Steve, and fell on his back. He grabbed for his dress shirt and cleaned them both off as best as he could. Then, since the couch wasn’t big enough to lie side-by-side, he once more draped his exhausted body over Steve’s sated form. He brushed two sticky strands of hair off Steve’s forehead, leaning closer. “Come on, talk to me,” he whispered into his ear. “What happened?”

Steve sighed, a grumbly, raspy sigh, his eyes immediately falling to Tony’s face. His crestfallen look could cripple tyrants. Hell, it probably _had_.

“Come on, it’s just you and me. You know you can tell me everything.”

With a last, surrendering sigh, Steve started to talk. He told him about the Lemurian Star, about Natasha, Fury and his new generation Helicarriers. All Tony did was wrap Steve’s naked form in his arms and listen. And all the while, he had to think back to his phone conversation with Pierce earlier this week. They’d been talking about the last upgrades to the new repulsor system, about how many tests Tony still needed to do, and all in all, the call had been less than satisfactory, but that wasn’t unusual. Pierce had always wanted too much in too little time. Thinking back on it, though, Tony also thought—and maybe it was his own paranoia—that he’d heard the barely audible click of a recording device.

Which could mean that Pierce wasn’t who he said he was, and that Tony—and possibly all of the Avengers—were being monitored. The data on ‘Project Insight’ was encrypted in a way that even Tony couldn’t work around. At least, not yet. Even with Extremis, Tony wasn’t able to track Fury, not in his office, not on his car and not even on his phone. And his continued absence didn’t make Tony feel any better. He mailed Coulson before going to bed, and as expected, Fury’s last confirmed location was with Pierce, his last call directed at Hill.

Both weren’t answering their phones.

Either way, the lack of communication could only mean that SHIELD had been compromised. Steve was right, there were simply too many loose ends.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Tony was roused from his half-sleep by the sound of Steve’s phone vibrating on the nightstand.

Steve jolted sideward, trying to be fast enough before the phone went a second time. He disentangled both arms from Tony’s upper body, flexing his fingers before holding the device in front of his frowning face. With a long exhale, Steve’s pupils flew over whatever message had appeared on the display. After a minute, he tossed the phone back on the nightstand, momentarily allowing his temper to get the best of him. His jaw tightened, his brows drew together in a firm line and his hand shook with how tight he was gripping the pillow beneath him.

Eventually, he dropped back on the bed, his hand brushing over Tony’s side, his fingers tangling in the ends of his hair. Tony edged closer, his tired brown eyes meeting Steve’s thoughtful glance.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.” Steve’s voice was gruff and raspy.

Tony shrugged, dismissing his apology. “Wasn’t really sleeping. My back hurts like hell. For whatever reason, Extremis doesn’t take care of that. Who was it?”

“Natasha,” Steve said. “She’s on her way here, wants to talk again before she leaves for her mission.”

Tony hummed. “Good. You should do that.”

Steve nodded, drawing him nearer, rousing a pitiful whine out of Tony. He chuckled, brushed his nose against Tony’s. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Tony said. “I’m just really sore.”

Steve smiled down at him, and he looked so much better already, pressing a deep kiss to Tony’s lips, before speaking again. “Shouldn’t that be my line?”

“I could’ve done without that information,” a foreign voice said, effectively making Tony bolt out of Steve’s grasp and off the bed as if spurred by a sudden jolt of electricity. With a single thought, his body was fully encased in the Iron Man armor, faceplate shutting down in front of him, repulsors at the ready.

The room was completely dark. Tony’s head whipped around, his shoulders twisting so that he could see the room full-on. When he did, he froze. The HUD shifted to the windows, to the strip of the streetlights that sifted through the crack between the drapes. There was a man sitting on the chair at the end of the bedroom.

“Steve,” he called out, heart thundering with adrenaline, but Steve already had the shield in his hands, sitting up with the bed sheet tangled around his middle.

“Stand down, Avengers,” the voice said again, and this time, Tony was awake enough to recognize it.

“ _Nicholas_?”

A brief silence. Then, the shadowy figure gave off a curt nod. “Good evening, gentlemen.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Tony groaned, shaking his head, as he pulled the suit back into his bones. “I’m too old for this. And. It. Never. Fucking. Ends.”

“Tony,” Steve called quietly and when he looked sideways, Steve was holding up one of the blankets expectantly.

Oh right. He was completely naked.

Tony reached his arm towards Steve and blindly groped for the blanket, draping it around his hips. In a voice still considerably high-pitched, he said, “If this is about the repulsor system, I really don’t want to hear it. You _tricked_ me, Nick, and you have my word—this was the last damn time I was building something for you, SHIELD, or _any_ other institution I don’t have full observation rights to.”

He could barely make out Fury’s form in the darkness, covered as he was in dark clothing, blending into the curtains behind him. A low quiet laugh resounded in the air between them. “Believe it or not, but this is bigger than your ego, Stark.”

With that, Steve turned on the light next to their bed, and Tony looked up again to glare at Fury, when—

_Fuck_.

Fury’s forehead was bruised, and there was a cut beneath his single eye—it was more than an inch long from the middle of his under-eye to past the corner—and a dozen small, half-healed scratches on his back. His neck was streaked with blood, and there was a lump on Fury’s temple that looked really serious. He couldn’t quite hide the pain from his expression. Nevertheless, his usual aura of self-assuredness remained intact.

At any rate, Tony winced when he saw him.

“What the hell happened to you?” he asked.

Fury shook his head slowly, eye trained on the phone in his hand. He started to type, then turned the device around. _Check for bugs._

Next to Tony, Steve rolled his eyes, raising both hands to his temples, and shaking his head. He let himself fall back on the bed, mouthing, “I _cannot_ believe you.”

Tony’s gaze flickered down, eyes becoming completely black. He sighed, reaching out to Extremis. Now that he was looking for it, he could track four bugs strewn around Steve’s apartment easily enough. He ordered JARVIS to destroy the recordings, then activated the jammer in his phone to block them.

“They’re offline,” he announced. “SHIELD’s bugging _Captain America’s_ home? Really?”

“Not on my command,” Fury said and sighed. “Although, it wasn’t exactly hard to locate your home.”

Tony leaned sideways to grab for both of their clothes and haul them onto the bed. Steve grabbed for his sweatpants, pulling them up over his hips with sharp angered movements.

“What happened?” Steve asked, standing up and moving for his shirt next.

Fury’s single eye was mostly swollen shut and he was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. “I told Pierce to delay Project Insight. You were right, there were some… discrepancies.” Fury sighed and pointed at his face. “Apparently, he showed little interest in following through with his promise.”

Steve scowled and took a step forward. “What kind of discrepancies?”

“I don’t know the particulars.” His single eyes narrowed and the rough front that Fury had depended on from the beginning started to crumple, and the first strains of humanly worry leaked through. “There are elements,” he said slowly, “that have to be taken into consideration. Things that involve Project Insight that I cannot disclose. Here.” He held up a USB stick—probably the one Steve’d been talking about earlier, the one from the Lemurian Star. “Let’s just leave it at that for now. We’ll have to discuss the details later. It’s not safe here.”

There was a minute’s consideration. Fury winced as he stood up, effectively torn. The look on his face was a mixture of worry and fret, and he looked completely out of sync with whatever it was he was trying to grasp. “Pierce might be—”

“—not the do-gooder he wants us to believe he is,” Tony finished. “Yeah, well, we figured. Aside yourself or the agents down in records, I don’t believe anyone knows _anything_ about him that he doesn’t want to be known. And he has been a… considerable annoyance while I was working on the repulsor engines. Kept me busy so I wouldn’t look too much left or right. Makes sense now, of course.”

“His recent associates have proven a liability to SHIELD.” Fury turned away as though ashamed. “And as you might have guessed, SHIELD has a traditional way of dealing with its various obstacles, including arbitrary personnel. And since I have taken action against our policies…” He trailed off, frowning at his own words.

“You’re left subject to investigation,” Tony offered, shrugging at Steve’s confused stare. “What?” he asked. “He wouldn’t be admitting as much if he’d not already been put on SHIELD’s most wanted list.”

“Put it out in the open,” Steve demanded with a hard tone, as always opting for the most up-front way possible. “Let everyone know that SHIELD is compromised.”

A sigh escaped Fury’s bloodstained lips. He shook his head, looking up at Steve warily. “You were brought in when you shouldn’t have been, Rogers, but at the same time, you can’t possibly have any idea what you’re asking me to do.”

Steve cocked his head unsympathetically. “Well, maybe if you told me the truth from the beginning instead of making up excuses—”

Fury stepped forward with a sudden, unexpected incursion of authority. “I didn’t need to tell you anything. Project Insight is a preliminary protection. SHIELD doesn’t need the approval of Captain America for every safety measure put into commission.” He frowned, shaking his head briefly, saying, more to himself, “It was out of my hands. The project was out of my hands the whole damn time.”

“Because you did nothing to stop it!” Steve yelled, before reigning himself in again. His hand was curled into a tight fist and the strain only loosened up after Tony put a hand on his shoulder, kneading the muscle there. “All this information in the hands of _one_ organization. You _had_ to know this couldn’t be right. We have dozens of enemies who can hack into SHIELD’s database without breaking a sweat, you _must_ have known this.”

A long beat of silence. It was apparent that struggling and name-calling wasn’t about to get them anywhere, though. Tony sighed. Potential for rational thought. Progress and all that. “How about instead of trying to explain to us what you can’t explain to us, start at the beginning.”

Fury nodded, slowly. “I have tried to access the project data on SHIELD’s servers.”

“It’s gone, I know,” Tony offered, shrugging when Steve looked at him askance. “What? You expected me _not_ to look into it after you tell me what SHIELD built on _my_ babies?”

“There was a signal,” Fury went on, staring at the SHIELD label on the USB stick. “You might want to affirm the location, but that’s where we need to start looking.”

“Which location?” Tony asked, then stopped short.

Something rustled in the far distance.

Tony jumped swiftly on his feet, but the scene outside hadn’t changed. But then, Steve’s hands were suddenly on his upper body and he pushed him hard against Fury and—

A shot ripped the air apart. It happened so fast. So freaking fast. The sensation of being dragged off his feet commenced a dizzy spell… then the room was spinning. A high whistle of something being hurled at superhuman speed. The bullet pierced Tony’s chest before he could turn away, throwing both him and Fury hard to the ground.

There were several shots following after that, but this time, Tony was fast enough. Iron Man settled all around him and Tony threw himself on top of Fury, pushing him firmly to the side while the bullets collided against the armor’s back.

Steve crouched behind his shield, his eyes darting around the room before setting on the window, moving about quickly until he’d located what he was looking for. “A shooter,” he breathed, then leaned down to Tony. He pushed two fingers against Fury’s pulse point before his gaze snapped back to Tony. “Were you—”

“It’s just a graze,” Tony interrupted him firmly, not entirely able to keep the wince of pain out of his voice. “Nothing Extremis can’t heal. Go get him. I’ll stay with Nick.”

And with that, Steve grabbed his shield and ran.


	3. A Thin Red Line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. This chap does contain a bit of original TWS dialogue, I hope you don't mind, it's definitely not gonna happen often. Thanks to [morphia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/morphia/pseuds/morphia) for her beta-reading and even more for the amazing ideas <3!

 

 

**Steve**

 

 

Steve whirled around and took off, hard and fast, in the other direction. He threw open the front door, raced across the hallways and through the windows between the living complexes, desperate to keep up with the colorful flash ahead of him.

“Stand down!” he yelled, commanding his legs to pump faster. If anything, the blur ahead became more distant, twisting around the next corner and vanishing from sight.

Damn it.

Steve heaved a frustrated sigh, racing harder, faster, pushing beyond his body’s capabilities. For the moment, the man had the advantage, and he was using it well. This was no human speed, not by far. Steve’s thunderous paces quaked beneath his feet. The world was spinning as he pushed the shield and himself through the first door, sending it to the ground. He cursed, nearly falling over as he sharply turned around the next corner.

The blur of motion returned. Running, hard and fast, its movements erratic. The guy was doing his best to lose him, by darting away over the roofs, and Steve was still yards behind him.

He knew where the shooter was heading, though, and if he managed to jump on the adjoining building, they’d be on the same level. Steve pushed himself forward, and just as he expected it—the roof proved to be a dead-end. Steve ran towards the next window front and held the shield in front of his body, before jumping against the glass. It burst into a Million shards, sending him onto the pavement. He fell and only just managed to roll himself back on his feet, before the man was already sprinting towards the edge. And Steve did the only thing left, and flung his shield at him with full speed.

Hard gasps rocked through the shooter’s chest, as he turned around swiftly. He caught the shield out of thin air, and that was when Steve realized that this was no normal arm. It was made out of silver metal, not unlike Iron Man’s, but thinner, and more human-like. There was a red star on its shoulder plate.

Bloodshot eyes found Steve’s—a clash of violent blue—and every molecule froze. Steve felt something hard clench in the pit of his stomach, without being fully able to explain what it was. There was nothing to do but stare for long, endless seconds, stranded in a memory he couldn’t quite place.

_I know those eyes._

The thought was gone before Steve could get a hold on it. The next second, the shooter flung the shield back at him with so much force that it threw him right off his feet. He was pushed backwards, immediately forcing himself to stand up again, but the man was already gone.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“It’s a longer drive to New Jersey,” Natasha said as soon as Steve helped Tony into the SUV. They sat down on the backseat, and Tony winced slightly as he leaned against the backrest.

“How long exactly?”

“At least three hours if we’re traveling at a normal speed,” she said as she lowered the window flaps to conceal them from the outside. “And I told the driver to take the scenic route.”

At that, Clint turned around from his spot in the driver’s seat and gave them an exaggerated pointed bow. “That’d be me,” he said with a grin.

“Scenic route?” Tony echoed, frowning.

“Means we’ll take a few turns, be less noticeable,” Steve supplied and sighed as he looked back on the parking lot where Fury was now being wheeled into an ambulance. He’d taken a bullet, too, but the shot had gone straight through him. It wasn’t anything fatal, and still… Fury would be taken to the hospital, and then he would die. Or at least, pretend to do so. “I’m not sure I like this plan,” he said. “If Camp Lehigh is SHIELD property, we could need him there.”

“He knows what he’s doing,” Natasha said. “If he needs Pierce to believe he’s dead, then this is our best option.”

“Sure,” Tony replied, snorting. “’cause Fury’s latest decisions have all been dead-on.”

Steve glanced down to where a compression bandage was fastened around Tony’s otherwise naked torso. It had been just a graze, nothing too serious. Extremis’ healing had already kicked in, pink skin stretching over where the bullet had pierced his body. It had hit Tony right beneath his left armpit, though, and Steve couldn’t stop thinking how easily the shot could’ve hit him straight in the heart.

There were some things even Extremis couldn’t heal.

“He couldn’t have seen this coming,” Natasha said with a firm voice. “None of us could.”

Clint started the motor, the tires squealing as he backed out of the parking lot and onto the residential street. He pulled onto the freeway, heading out of town. As they drove down the highway leading to Kent Island, Tony sat stiffly next to him, face turned away, staring into distance.

“You holding up alright?” Steve asked. His words were wasted, though. Tony wasn’t here. His eyes were oily black, fingers twitching occasionally. He’d mastered Extremis in an incredible short amount of time, but then again, Steve hadn’t expected anything less.

There was always something unnerving about Extremis clouding Tony’s eyes. That wondrous understanding that flooded his perspective on occasion and the utterly blank stare that marked total absentness were all on the uncanny side of disturbing. Some days, Steve would get frustrated with how often Tony was locked up in his own mind, but whenever he blinked the black away and smiled at him like he’d just realized something magnificent, Steve couldn’t find it in him to hold grudges against the virus. It had saved Tony’s life, after all. And he felt Tony’s hand in his. Felt the warm texture of his skin. If he inhaled, he would be greeted with Tony’s fragrance. It was more than one person could ever ask for. He might have to share his husband once in a while, but Tony was here, with him, and that was everything.

“Sweetheart,” Steve tried again, touching Tony’s arm to get his attention.

Tony’s eyes drifted shut and shot open when he whispered Steve’s name. It was breathtaking—the clarity behind those brown eyes that had been empty just a second ago, the knowledge and the wonder that was marred only with comprehension. Tony shifted, his hand constricted around Steve’s until he realized that he was likely gripping a little too hard. “Fury was right,” he said without prompting, as if they’d been in the middle of a conversation. “About the ship. Somebody’s trying to hide something and seeing how well it’s protected, it sure must be ugly. The drive is protected by some sort of AI. It keeps rewriting itself to counter my commands. I haven’t… I don’t think I’ve ever seen something like this before from, well, anyone who’s not me.”

Well, there was something Steve didn’t get to hear all that often. No wonder Tony looked so shaken.

“You can’t override it?”

Tony hummed, frowning. “Not right away. JARVIS is still running the tracer. The location Fury gave us is correct but there’s something I can’t get a finger on from here…”

“Maybe it’ll get clearer when we reach the camp,” Steve said and realized all too late that he’d already lost Tony again.

Steve sighed. He really tried not be too annoyed about these kinds of things, but Tony zoning out in the middle of a conversation was definitely something he’d never get used to. “Tony, come on…”

Tony blinked twice at the name before allowing a small smile to cross his lips. A hand found Steve’s face, and Tony pulled him closer, pressing a soft kiss against his lips. “Sorry.”

Steve inhaled him appreciatively, clutching Tony to him with sudden possessive restriction. For a moment he simply let himself revel in the steady rhythm of Tony’s heart beating against his chest. “He shot you,” he murmured.

“I’m okay. I really am,” Tony countered, tapping on the wound as if to prove himself, and drew Steve back in. His fingers were tunneling through Steve’s hair with reverence that made him quiver. With a tender smile, Tony cupped his cheek and guided Steve’s mouth to his. The kiss that followed was soft leisured intimacy. Unhurried nibbles that promised a world for tomorrow. On a second note, Steve tugged Tony close and kissed him thoroughly, his defenses melting at the perfect feel of Tony’s lips against his.

In the last weeks, they’d had all too little time for these small signs of affection and now, the simplest touch had the power to make Steve lose all sense of his surroundings.

“Guys, come on. I can hear the smacking,” Clint said with a little whiny noise.

Tony snorted against Steve’s lips, but drew back anyway. He squeezed Steve’s hand gently, before he settled back into his seat and closed his eyes.

Steve twirled the USB stick around between his fingers, frowning at the SHIELD symbol. Maybe it wasn’t fair to be so angry at an inanimate object, and maybe it was childish to want to toss it outside of the van and watch it smash to smithereens. It sure as hell was irrational thinking that none of this would’ve happened if Natasha hadn’t retrieved the data. He couldn’t help it, however, and knew he had to focus his anger on the task at hand.

“Did you get a hold on Bruce and Thor?” Steve asked, leaning forward to where Clint and Natasha were sitting.

“Thor’s on his way back from London,” Clint said. “I told Bruce to stay on alert for now. Meet us in New Jersey. Figured he wouldn’t be all that keen to go underground.”

“I downloaded the Camp’s map, the signal comes from the ammunition bunker,” Tony said, his eyes brown once more. He sat up and turned the tablet in his lap around. “How much do you remember about the place?” he asked Steve with a soft voice.

Steve let out a deep breath before returning his attention to the tablet. “There wasn’t anything unusual, as far as I remember it. The bunker has one large main hall and a smaller raised room accessible by a loading ramp. There was a sublevel where they mostly stuffed—” He paused, frowning at the map.

“Steve?” Tony prompted.

“It’s in the wrong place.”

Clint’s brows perked with interest as he glanced over his shoulder. “Maybe they needed to rebuild it?”

Steve shook his head with conviction. “No. Army regulations forbid storing ammunition within five hundred yards from the barracks. If they rebuilt it, they wouldn’t have done it there.”

He tapped his finger on the screen, zooming out of the area and pointing to a place on the far side of the camp. “There. It used to be there.”

“Good,” Tony said. “Then we know where to start looking.”

Inhaling slowly, Steve’s eyes drifted to the landscape passing by and he allowed himself to rest against Tony’s shoulder. Inevitably, his thoughts returned to the shooter. He hadn’t known what to call it thenת though he knew there had been something more to it than was visible on the surface. Those eyes had seemed so far away. A dead look that somehow made Steve feel like he was scratching an over-rubbed scar.

Steve blinked, his brow furrowing as he fought to pull his thoughts together. “The shooter,” he started, twisting in his seat. “The one at our apartment.”

“What about him?” Clint asked.

Steve breathed in, rubbing his eyes. “He was so fast. Really strong, too. There’s no way he was only human. And there was something—he had a metal arm. Robotic, I think.”

Tony raised an eyebrow at that, staring at him with blunt astonishment. “And the rest of him was human? You’re sure?”

“Yeah…” Steve frowned, questioning himself. Those eyes. They couldn’t have possibly been robotic.

A still beat had settled through the car. Slowly, Natasha turned her head sideways, gazing at him through the rear-view mirror with neutral curiosity. “And the ballistics?”

Tony pulled out the bullet he’d been shot with. “There were three slugs. And the riffling doesn’t match anything I’ve ever seen and JARVIS says it’s untraceable.”

Clint cast them a somewhat uneasy look, then glanced back at Natasha.

She drew a slow deep breath, nodding curtly. “We know him,” she said, then pulled her shoulders back. “He’s ex KGB. One of the best in the business. Clint and I met him on a few missions. Your shooter, he’s… he’s credited with over two dozen assassinations in the last fifty years. Most of the intelligence community doesn’t believe he exists. The ones who do call him _The Winter Soldier_.” Natasha hesitated, obviously choosing her next words cautiously. That much was simple to decipher. Her gaze remained fixed on Steve. When she spoke up again, her voice was strangely thick, and not remotely her own. “Five years ago, I was escorting a nuclear engineer out of Iran. It was a simple mission, until somebody shot out my tires in Odessa. We lost control, went straight over a cliff. I pulled us out, but The Winter Soldier was already there.” Her eyes became distant, lost in memory, while her fingers slowly rubbed circles into her abdomen. “I was covering my engineer, so he shot him… straight through me.”

Clint was staring at the road ahead, his hands positioned at ten and two, no expression at all on his face. His fingers flexed, and eventually, his right hand dropped from the wheel to Natasha’s shoulder, kneading the skin there. “It’s okay, 'Tasha.”

Natasha’s eyes flitted from the front windshield to Steve’s face and then back again. “Going after him is a dead end,” she said, vehemently. “SHIELD’s tried to get a hold on him several times and every mission has been a failure.”

“So he’s a ghost story.”

Natasha nodded, eyes strangely sullen. There was more to this. That much was clear. For once, Natasha’s demeanor couldn’t be any more obvious. Her expression reminded him of the looks that had always colored the expression of homecoming soldiers. Natasha was coming home from a war still embedded in her mind. It was subtle enough to remain disregarded, but there for those who looked.

“Well,” Steve said, shaking himself back to the present, trying to make his voice sound as neutral as possible. He would find out what was going on eventually. No secret remained hidden forever. “Let’s find out what the ghost wants.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

They reached Camp Lehigh an hour later. It was a strange feeling—stepping onto the soil where it had all started. Steve’s mind was suddenly a collage of memories; only it didn’t feel like seventy-three had passed. Looking around, he could almost see his skinny self jogging down the path to the training site.

It didn’t feel like shadows of the past, though. Everything was so real. So tangible.

As soon as they stepped into the ammunition bunker, Tony unerringly turned to a corner that opened to a flight of stairs Steve had never before explored. Granted, he’d never had much time to snoop around this area. The only time he’d had access, he’d been in a hurry to get ready for the final formation of the day.

“Looks like this is a dead end,” Tony exclaimed with black eyes. “Zero heat signature, Zero waves, not even radio. Whoever wrote the file must have used a router to throw people off, because…” He trailed off, frowning, then he turned around.

“What is it?” Steve asked, stepping up next to him.

Tony’s jaw twitched. “There should be a door around there somewhere,” he said, pointing with the light of the Iron Man gauntlet to the far wall. “We can take the stairs down to the basement.”

Steve nodded, and they made their way through the large ammunition storage. For a brief second, the familiar scents of oil, gunpowder and fuel brought about a nostalgic memory of his time here. It only lacked the smell of sweat and hard work, but it was enough to push him forward.

“Down, down we go,” Clint sing-songed, jarring Steve from his thoughts. They’d arrived at the stairwell. Steve smashed the door’s lock with his shield and when they stepped inside the room, the lights went on, revealing an interior Steve was all too familiar with.

“This is SHIELD,” Natasha said, looking around with large eyes. “Maybe where it started.”

They walked past a wall that held three framed photographs. Peggy’s, Howard’s and one of Colonel Phillips.

“Don’t you think someone would’ve said something about this?” Clint asked, shining his flashlight around to investigate as they descended the stairs. “I mean, this seems like something someone should’ve said something about.”

“Having second thoughts?” Tony asked, sounding almost hopeful.

“No,” Clint said as he stared at Howard’s face, frowning a little. “Just thinking.”

Tony cast him another quick glance, then walked past the portraits.

Steve focused on the nondescript area of the dark tunnel and then gestured for the others to come up beside him. He crept up carefully, trying to get a sense of what he was seeing but couldn’t place it. He turned towards Tony and put a pointed finger next to his eyes, raising an eyebrow in question. _Extremis?_ he asked wordlessly. Tony’s eyes went black—they’d played this game often enough—and a frown crept over his face. He blinked himself back into the present, then shook his head. “Nothing.”

Steve nodded curtly, and took a step further into the room, silently moving in further.

Natasha hopped off the last step onto the filthy basement floor. It looked as if no one had stepped in here for decades. The space was huge, the same square footage as the ammunition bunker above it.

“Right,” Clint started. “This is officially creepy. I keep expecting Freddy Krueger to pop out.”

“Who?” Steve murmured distractedly, while inspecting the room around him.

Clint sighed. “So many movies to see, so little time, Stevie-o. It’s an old horror flick.”

“And not worth his time,” Tony mumbled distractedly.

The more ground they covered, the darker it became and if it weren’t for Tony’s repulsor, it would be pitch black by now.

For several yards, there was nothing but a long, winding corridor that felt more like a secret passage in a castle than anything modern. The room that followed was full of old-fashioned computers. Everything had a thick overlay of dust and the tech looked, for all the world, like it hadn’t been in use in decades.

Something was disturbingly off.

“It’s kinda… boiler room-y in here, huh?” Clint said, eyeing the rusty network of pipes, railings, aluminum tubing and large metal drums filled with… stuff. “What’s in those things?”

“Freddy’s victims and their nightmares,” Natasha whispered into Clint’s ear, grinning when he jumped a little.

Tony snorted a laugh and walked a little bit ahead of them.

Suddenly, the light went on, the neon lamps blinding them for a moment. All Steve could make out were glaring spots of light; spaced throughout the ceiling, and a sense of space. When his eyes adjusted, Steve saw that they were in a large underground room filled with computers and outdated machinery. Old metal filing cabinets lined each wall. Wires crawled over the floors and walls in organized tracks.

“This can’t be the data point,” Natasha said, walking further into the room. “This technology is ancient.” She frowned when she noticed the new USB port lying on the huge desk in front of them. There wasn’t a single dust note on its surface.

Next to Steve, Tony took the flash drive out of his pocket, putting it into the port. Immediately, the computer around him sprang to life. On the screen in front of him, a single line of text appeared.

_INITIATE SYSTEM?_

A tiny crooked smile appeared on Tony’s lips. “Cute,” he said before he leaned down and started typing on the keyboard.

_Y-E-S._

“Shall we play a game?” Tony intoned gravely, before green lines of text scrolled dizzyingly fast across the black screens of the computers, making the room flicker as though they were underwater.

“You’ve been dying for the opportunity to use that one, haven’t you?” Steve asked fondly.

“Well, it WAS my first chance to use it in your presence. Also, as the guy who _actually_ built the world’s first sophisticated AI, I think I’m pretty much required to use that line as often as I possibly can.”

Steve just rolled his eyes, and as he watched the monitors flickering all around them, his stomach kept doing uneasy flips. A face became visible on the monitor in front of them. And when the clattering of Tony’s typing fell silent, a voice echoed through the vast space.

A voice Steve was all too familiar with.

“Rogers, Steven Grant,” it echoed across the room. “Born 1918.” The camera next to the monitor scanned the surroundings, landing on Natasha next. “Romanov, Natalia Alianovna. Born 1984.”

“It’s some kind of recording,” Natasha said, pulling away just a fraction.

“Not a recording,” Tony said, his eyes twitching back and forth between his own brown eye color and the typical oily blackness of Extremis.

“Stark, Anthony Edward. Born 1970.”

The camera eventually landed on Clint and stayed there. “Barton, Clinton Francis. Born 1971.”

“That’s kinda impolite,” Clint said with a scowl.

Natasha frowned. “If it’s not a recording, then…”

Steve let his gaze sweep across the room, landing on a little monitor that held on old picture of Arnim Zola from the time when Steve had taken him prisoner in 1943. “His name was Arnim Zola. He was a German scientist who worked for the Red Skull,” he explained slowly. “He’s been dead for years.”

“First correction, I am Swiss,” Zola said with his strangely distorted voice. “Second, look around you, I have never been more alive! In 1972, I received a terminal diagnosis. Science could not save my body. My mind, however, that was worth saving, on two hundred thousand feet of data banks. You are standing _in my brain!_ ”

Steve looked around, to the large SHIELD symbol on the wall, before his eyes landed on Tony once more. His eyes were brown now, brows furrowed as he stared at the monitor. Steve was sure Tony was thinking the same thing he did, and dreading the answer just as much.

“How did you get here?” Steve asked, taking a slightly more precarious step in Zola’s direction.

A short pause, before Zola’s voice intoned, slowly, “I was invited.”

Natasha pursed her lips, then said, “He’s referring to Operation Paperclip. After World War II, SHIELD recruited German scientists with strategic values.”

“They thought I could help their cause,” Zola agreed. “I also helped my own.”

Steve shook his head in denial. “HYDRA died with the Red Skull.”

It was almost like the green face in front of him was smiling then. “Cut off one head, two more shall take its place.” The face contorted into Hydra’s symbol.

Steve swallowed hard, reactionary senses on autopilot. He couldn’t trust himself otherwise. “Prove it.”

“Accessing archive.” There was a clicking voice, and the few monitors next to Zola’s face switched to a list of black and white photographs. “HYDRA was founded on the belief that humanity could not be trusted with its own freedom. What we did not realize, was that if you try to take that freedom, they resist. War taught us much.”

Steve had seen most of the video material before—most of it was propaganda. And yet, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing and remained cemented firmly in his position as the images unfolded beat by beat on screen.

“Humanity needed to surrender its freedom willingly. After the war, SHIELD was founded and I was recruited. The new HYDRA grew. A beautiful parasite inside SHIELD.”

For a moment, there was nothing. Clint, Natasha, Tony—they all stayed perfectly still. There was just the continued hum of the machine’s vibrations and its arrhythmic clicks. Then, new pictures started flashing across the screens.

“For seventy years HYDRA has been secretly feeding crisis. Reaping war. And when history did not cooperate, history was changed.”

Steve knew—Zola’s testimony was enough to verify what his eyes were telling him with factuality; and yet he heard and disbelieved its weight with callous concentration.

“That’s impossible,” Natasha said next to Steve. “SHIELD would have stopped you.”

The machine’s humming grew louder, joined by a sharp, high-pitched keening sound, and there was a sudden flash of light that made Steve screw his eyelids together and bite down on his lip—

“Accidents will happen,” Zola intoned.

The picture changed to a newspaper article, and that was… Steve drew in a sharp breath as he made out the picture of Howard… and Maria. The article about their car accident in 1991. Steve closed his eyes for a second, and it was like floating in nothingness. Slowly, he glanced over to Tony. His expression was stony at best, and thoroughly unreadable. He wasn’t frowning or upset or anything that could be named; rather, he was blank, completely vacant, and that very vacancy resonated more than screams ever could.

Steve wanted to reach out to him, comfort him, but Zola’s voice already echoed through the room again, “HYDRA created a world so chaotic that humanity is finally ready to sacrifice its freedom to gain its security. Once the purification process is complete, HYDRA’s new world order will arise.”

“Alright. Don’t know about you,” Tony said, and his tone was all the indication Steve needed to know that he was teetering on the edge of reason, “but I’ve had about enough of this bullshit.”

Suddenly, he went over to a large machine tucked in the far corner of the room. Steve hadn’t even noticed it until now. There were large twists of cables curled round it like ivy clinging to concrete walls. At its top was a rounded cap of metal. The whole thing seemed to be attached to the big computers filling up the room.

“What are you doing?” Steve asked worriedly, but Tony only waved him off.

“Can’t shut him down via Extremis, maybe, but a direct link should work just fine.” With that, Tony’s eyes went black and he powered up the machine without even touching it. Sitting on a stool beside it, he strapped wristbands dangling on cables to each arm and placed the cap, also attached to the machine by cables, onto his head. It clipped itself in place with the blunt-ended pincers round its rim.

“ _Tony_ ,” Steve snapped with a warning tone. “Are you crazy? You can’t possibly know what this will do—”

“Trust me, I got this.” Tony’s face went slack, and before Steve could anything else, a fierce blue shone within his eyes.

Steve balled his hands to fists. God, he hated this. Tony couldn’t _possibly_ know if this was safe and that was—

There was a flicker on the monitor where Zola’s face had been. It blacked out completely, and then, only a few seconds later, Tony’s flat, robotic Extremis-voice echoed across the space like Zola’s had done moments ago. “He wrote an algorithm. Clever, gotta give him that. It’s directly linked to Project Insight.”

A long, uneasy breath hissed through Steve’s teeth, eyes glued to Tony’s face and soaking in every movement he made. Watching for some sign of discomfort or pain. He _really_ hated this part of Extremis. “What kind of algorithm?” he asked eventually.

“Gimme a sec,” Tony said, voice cutting through the dark silence of the cellar. “I need to get around his firewalls…” A pause. Almost two whole minutes passed before Tony spoke up again. “It’s a program for or choosing Project Insight’s targets.”

Natasha and Clint stepped forward, asking simultaneously, “What targets?”

A sound vibrated along the monitors. Zola’s face flickered along the room. Steve cast another look at Tony’s expression, and it was strained now, as if in pain, like he was battling Zola within his mind—which he probably did.

“Tony, I want you to stop this right now.”

“Wait,” Tony grunted—not his robotic voice, his real one. His eyes were brown and he panted, obviously exhausted, as he leaned back in the chair.

Steve rushed over to him, putting a hand on his face. “Please, sweetheart,” he said. “We can find another way to…”

But Tony’s eyes were already black again. “You,” he breathed after a moment. “Me. Bruce, all of us… Millions. Politicians, TV anchors, businessmen. Anyone who’s a potential threat to HYDRA. He even—” Tony groaned, sinking forward on his knees, panting. “I can’t believe this. Zola even taught them how to read our fucking bank records, medical histories, voting patterns, e-mails, phone calls, the damn SAT scores. Zola’s algorithm evaluates peoples’ past to predict their future. With that knowledge, HYDRA could easily dispose of everyone who doesn’t help their cause, do what their assassins did so far, only that it’d be much faster, much cleaner, much less traceable. They wouldn’t need to train them for years—” Tony stopped short, mouth suddenly falling open on a low disbelieving gasp. A very still beat grew between them. “What? Oh God, Steve, I didn’t know…”

Tony’s eyes flickered back to their brown color. He stared at Steve as though he had just awoken from a horrible dream and his mouth opened and closed in a futile try to find the right words. “Steve…” he echoed, grabbing for his hands and pulling him nearer. “I didn’t _know_ …”

Steve simply stared, searching Tony’s eyes for whatever he wanted to tell him. “What do you mean? What didn’t you know?”

Suddenly, Natasha stepped up next to them, pointing on the phone in her hands. “Guys, I got a bogey. Short-range ballistic. Thirty seconds, tops.”

“Who fired it?”

She sighed. “SHIELD.”

Steve nodded at that, because of course it would be SHIELD, goddamnit, then he put his hands on both of Tony’s shoulders, shaking him out of—wherever he was. “We gotta get out of here right now,” he ordered. “Not up for discussion. Come on.”

For once, Tony did as he was told. He pulled off the metal cap and let it drop on its cables to the side of the machine. He rubbed his temples where the pincers had dug.

Steve looked around, frantically, then his gaze fell on a manhole in the middle of the room. There wouldn’t be room for all of them. The next thing he knew, Tony had pushed him forward, while his own body was already encased in the Iron Man suit.

“The suit can take it,” Tony yelled at all of them. “I’m good, _go_.”

Steve gave a curt nod, needing to trust that Tony knew what the armor could take. He grabbed Natasha and Clint, pulling them with him, down under the cover. He pulled up his shield, hovering it over all of their heads as best as he could. Above them, Tony threw himself over the grid to give them more protection—and he couldn’t have taken a second longer, because then, the room above them was encased in fire. Debris fell down on the ground, smoke filling the air.

A breeze of fire swept around Steve’s body—heat unlike anything he’d ever felt. It shook him to the bone, mashed shattered pieces into powder, pulled and tugged. It was heat that wanted him, wanted to consume, wanted to waste everything in its path.

They were all screaming in pain. There was a vacuum of nothing around them, dragging the world down with it. The black cloud, he recognized, was the fiery smoke, and it was upon them. It had swallowed the world whole and it wanted them, too. And for a second—a fractured second—the adrenalin within Steve switched off and everything became very still.

Two firm hands found his wrist, jarring him back to himself and spearing his insides with clarity. His eyes found Tony’s—not Iron Man’s, not Extremis’, _Tony’s_ —and Steve used them as anchors, as Tony dragged him out of the hole in the ground.

“I’ve got you,” Tony said, pulling him out.

“I know,” Steve replied. And he did.

The armor looked horrible, the paint almost gone, leaving it with the vibranium’s silver color. There were dents and ashes and while there was no blood on Tony’s face, he looked shaken.

Next to them, Natasha stood up and looked down at the broken debris around them. Both hers and Clint’s face were ashen and smeared with black sludge. “We got to keep moving,” she said worriedly.

“Can’t go back to the tower,” Tony said, turning as he spoke. “I got a safehouse near DC. I’m not sure how good SHIELD’s information on my hideouts is, all things considered, we could regroup quickly and—”

“Sam,” Steve said before he could even finish the thought. There weren’t a lot of people in DC  he trusted, but he did trust Sam. “We should be as far off the grid as possible.”

Tony nodded, grabbing for Steve’s waist. “Good. I’ll fly you up.”

“Nat first,” Steve demanded.

“ _Clint_ first,” Natasha said, pointing at Clint’s leg and, right—there was a red spot on his thigh and while it was probably just a light burn, it would definitely be a handicap right now.

Tony gave off a robotic huff, as soon as the faceplate shut down, and grabbed Clint around the waist. Together they sped to the stretch of rock wall, and side by side, Steve and Natasha began to climb. Once more, Steve inwardly patted his own shoulder that he always nagged all of them for sparring sessions. Their bodies were accustomed to exertion—and along with the missions, they’d never been short on action. The climb wasn’t much of a problem. Finding footholds, hands grappling for a nook to fortify, and sure enough, Natasha reached the ground a couple of seconds before him. He wasn’t surprised. Even with the serum, he couldn’t hold a candle to her when it came to agility.

“Tony?” Steve called, looking around.

“There’s another missile coming,” Tony called back. “ _Hurry_ , we need to—oh, well, never mind.”

Alarmed, Steve pulled himself over the edge, but then, there were two large, green hands grabbing for his shoulders and hauling him upwards. Above him, fierce lightning illuminated the sky. It was everywhere, all-consuming and Steve had exactly a second to watch the missile speeding through the sky, before thunder hit it while it was still high up the air. The explosion shook the air, but the detonation held no danger to them here.

Heavy footsteps landed on the debris around Steve.

“Good seeing you again, my friends,” Thor announced, and there was a little crooked smirk on his face as he took in their grimy appearances. Generously, he waved Mjolnir around, pointing it at Steve last. “I must say, you have looked better. It’s a fortunate thing that Bruce and I have come to your aid in time.”

Next to them, Hulk slammed a fist on his hairy chest and cast Steve a vicious little grin, as if saying, _What he said._

Tony snorted, as he opened his faceplate, leaning a bit against Thor. “Whatever else happens, it’s always comforting to see you guys smashing things.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey, man,” Steve said in a manner that was entirely too casual for anything he could begin to relate to present circumstances. He pursed his lips and looked up at Sam with an apologetic expression. “I know this is, uhm, a lot to take in, but… we need a place to lay low for a few hours.”

‘A lot’ didn’t even begin to cover it. What a sight they must make: A red-caped God, a man-robot, another man wearing nothing but purple stretch pants, and three people fully covered in ashes and grime. There was probably one of those God-awful bar jokes in there.

To his credit, Sam only stared at them for a minute. Then, he smirked, and gestured for them to walk inside. “Come on in then. Can’t say no to the Avengers, can I?”

A few minutes later, they all had filed into Sam’s kitchen and slumped down around the dining table. They sat in companionable silence for a few seconds before acknowledgement that discussing what had happened was inevitable.

Clint was the first to find his voice, “I can’t believe this.”

A small statement. Four little words. Nothing specific, and yet they all knew exactly what he was talking about. Steve wasn’t aware that he had been staring at Natasha until she shifted uncomfortably and averted her eyes with a note of the same.

Clint sighed. “Phil will have a field day when he hears this.”

“Phil already knows,” Natasha said, staring quietly at her phone now. “He isn’t answering on the emergency line. I bet he has his hands full.” She huffed, leaning back and staring at the ceiling. “And you told me I was going straight,” she murmured, glancing over at Clint. “I just traded in the KGB for HYDRA. It’d be funny if it weren’t so tragic. I… I really thought I knew whose lies I was telling but…”

Clint grasped her wrist suddenly, his own eyes seeking hers. “We were doing good, Tasha. We saved people, we changed things. Whatever else HYDRA did, we were doing good when it counted, and there’s no one who can convince me otherwise.”

A trembling breath slipped passed Natasha’s lips, and she nodded, gaze fogging somewhat.

“While you’re at the whole sharing-your-feelings thing, which—honestly—is freaking me out a bit… maybe it’s time to lay a few more cards on the table,” Tony said. Since he’d strapped himself to that machine, he’d been awfully quiet, not meeting either of their gazes—not even Steve’s. He seemed conflicted, and up until now, Steve had figured it was because of what he’d seen about Project Insight, but now he wasn’t so sure anymore.

Natasha glanced up at Tony. There was a cold pause as they stared each other down. “Some cards better stay hidden until the time is right.”

“Let me rephrase that,” Tony said and now there was the hint of a threat in his voice. “Tell him or I will.”

Natasha opened her mouth, but Clint talked over her, “Let it rest,” he said with a clipped voice. “You don’t know anything about what she—”

“I won’t keep this from him,” Tony snarled, slamming a hand on the table. “And neither will you.”

Thor laid one of his big hands on Tony’s shoulder, trying to keep him still. “Friend Tony, maybe it would be wise to—”

“No, it _wouldn’t_. Would you stop it already?” Tony snapped, jumping to his feet and out of Thor’s grasp.

Thor frowned. “Stop what?”

“Always try to make everybody calm down. This is not the damn time for your Asgardian Worldly Wisdom.” His hands fisted, anger subsiding in waves as he looked back at Natasha. “He was right here, wasn’t he? Right fucking here and you didn’t tell him. You know, I think there are only so many lies a person can tell before forgiveness is not listed under the options section of the How To Pretend To Be A Damn Friend guidebook, Natasha.”

Clint rose to his feet, stepping in front of Natasha and staring straight into Tony’s eyes. “Don’t you dare tell her she was only pretending. Don’t you fucking dare spit that into her face, asshole.”

Tony opened his mouth, but Steve yelled over him, “What in _God’s name_ is going on here?!”

There was a heavy pause.

“It’s about the shooter,” Natasha said, awfully quiet, forcing the words out as if each syllable was painful to utter. “I knew him. Long before Odessa. We worked for the KGB together for several years. We were…”

“Guys,” Clint said, his eyes flickering to Steve, heavy with concern but likewise well-guarded. Everything about him was guarded. “Now might not be the right time to do this.”

“Worked with him,” Steve echoed, ignoring Clint and taking a step in Natasha’s direction instead. “I don’t understand how this is relevant.”

“You know him, too,” she said without glancing away. “You knew him even before I did. Before you became Captain America. He wasn’t always the man he is now.”

A complete silence settled within the kitchen, all eyes shifted onto Steve, which told him that they had all arrived at the same conclusion, long before Natasha uttered those next words that had Steve’s insides freeze in shock.

“He was your best friend once.”

And with that, Steve felt the veils between Natasha and him fall. Standing in silence, the space between them occupied with measured breaths, it seemed he understood her at long last. They’d never been close. There had always been a Million’s secrets between them, a vacuum of unknown space, Steve had just been too blind to realize it.

He couldn’t say anything, couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but stare. He was stunned speechless, staring straight ahead and wrinkling his forehead as he tried to figure out what to say to that. What to _think_ about that.

“Steve?” Tony prompted with a gentle voice.

Very slowly, Steve allowed his head to drop forward in his hands. He felt all of them staring at him, their eyes anxious.

Sam cleared his throat. “Uh, I know I have zero idea about what’s going on here but… Steve was born in the 20s, right? How’s it possible that his friend’s still up and around? Shouldn’t he be… I don’t know… ninety or something? Definitely not shooting people.”

Tony sighed. “Bucky Barnes’ old unit was captured in ’43. Zola experimented on him. And I guess that… whatever Zola did, might’ve helped Barnes survive the fall in Italy. And the years that followed.”

“Another super soldier?” Bruce asked quietly, leaning forward. “The army must’ve done tests on him. There were no records—”

Tony rolled his eyes. “What, KGB records?”

Bruce frowned, nodding. “Right.”

Steve tilted his head at Natasha. It took him two or three tries before he was able to talk, and when he did, his voice sounded weak and ineffectual. “You’re sure it’s him?”

For long moments, Natasha’s expression was carefully blank. Eventually, she took a deep breath, then pushed her right hand down her décolleté. Her fingers twirled around something, and then she was pulling out a pair of dog tags.

Steve drew in a sharp breath, but he didn’t have to look at it to know which name was embossed in the steel. He didn’t know what to think about that, the implication was clear, of course, he wasn’t stupid, but the fact that Natasha had _known_ , had once been near Bucky like this, that was… “So you’ve known. All this time since I woke up. Every time we talked about him, you knew.”

Natasha looked like she was bracing herself for a punch. “Yes.”

Steve stood up, his chair screeching over the floor tiles.

“Steve…” Tony intervened, walking up to Steve and putting an arm around his waist, holding him back.

Clint stood up as well. “Calm down, Cap, okay?”

At that, Steve moved out of Tony’s grasp and stalked to the backdoor. He stepped out on the patio, cold wind sweeping against his face. It was a clear morning, bright and a little cold, though clouds were banking on the horizon.

Natasha’s feet crunched on the gravel path behind him. There wasn’t room for choosing his words wisely. His foresight was clouded with unbridled hurt and he whirled around, grasping her by the shoulders. “You know, at times your selfishness knows no bounds.”

Natasha didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Merely studied him. Their breath billowed out between them in soft white clouds. “I know you hate it when I lie to you,” she said with a soft tone, making Steve huff. “But I know you, and you weren’t ready for this. Telling you about him would’ve cost you everything.”

“That’s not the point!” His shout rolled through the sleepy morning silence of Sam’s garden, shocking Natasha into stillness. “Bucky is my _friend_ ,” Steve said vehemently. “My _brother_. He was _everything_ I had. Do you have _any_ sort of idea what it ‘costs’ me to know that I could’ve helped him for years?!”

Natasha’s face tightened. “You couldn’t have helped—”

“I could’ve _tried_. This was my choice, Natasha!”

Unaffected by the rebuke, Natasha went on. “If I had told you, right the moment you woke up at SHIELD, what do you think would’ve happened?” she asked, her voice now thick with emotions. “You would’ve gone searching for him. You would’ve given up your _whole life_ to find him. Year after year after year. And your hopes would’ve been destroyed over and over again. You would’ve never become the man you are today, never become an Avenger, and you never would’ve met Tony.”

She might just as well have kicked him in the gut. Silence settled between them, before Steve cleared his throat gruffly, and told her in a voice that was harsh with pain, “Whatever consequences there may have been, it was not your right to hide this from me.”

A sigh set upon Natasha’s shoulders and she rolled her head back. “Right now, James is a weapon, Steve, and nothing more.”

“Whatever happened to him wasn’t his fault.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Natasha agreed. “But that doesn’t change who he is. And what he is, is someone you can’t save. I learned it the hard way and I didn’t want this life for you.”

“Just because you couldn’t get through to him doesn’t mean that I can’t,” he snapped at her and immediately wanted to take the words back, but it was too late. There was a brief look of hurt on Natasha’s face, before she schooled her expression. Then, she turned on her heels and made to move back into the house.

“I don’t regret what I did,” she said quietly, before she stepped through the door. “And you can’t hate me forever.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Half an hour later, Steve still paced the length of Sam’s patio. He needed space, and time to think, and wade through the mess of memories in his head. He felt almost dizzy with shock. He wouldn’t have believed it had it not been for Bucky’s dog tags. So many things had faded from his memories over time… had been forcibly pushed away because they were painful. Odd that a piece of steel could bring all of it back in an instant. Could bring it back with such clarity. His mind recalled the day in Italy, the moment when he’d failed Bucky and had to watch him fall down into the endless ice. His hand on Bucky’s shoulder… the way he’d looked at him, trusting Steve to get him back into the train… the despair in his eyes when he fell.

All of it was suddenly so real. Too real. Because, as painful as it would have been to know that Bucky had died in Italy—it was so much worse to see what he had become. His friendly features hardened with cruelty; his eyes jaded. Not Bucky at all, but just his body, just a host for what HYDRA had turned him into.

But even as he thought it, he felt a flicker of doubt. The night before, Bucky’s eyes had been jaded maybe, had been hard, but there was also sorrow, and confusion. He’d looked blatantly hurt, like he couldn’t even understand what he was doing—

Abruptly, Steve spun around and beat the stonewall of Sam’s garage with his left hand, punching it twice and with so much force, chunks of rock broke off and the jagged surfaces they left behind peeled the flesh from his knuckles.

Natasha had lied to him. Lied since he’d known her. The fact that he’d been aware that Natasha never gave anyone insight into her past without a good cause didn’t make the present situation hurt any less. He supposed it was a small thing to her. She’d been manipulating people all her life, had been taught to keep information close to the heart, and theoretically, Steve knew it wasn’t entirely fair of him to look down on her for that.

His hand was embedded in the rock, and Steve had to brace his foot against the wall to jerk it back out. When he withdrew it, the fingers were bloodied. Slowly, he sagged against the wall. There was a subdued pain in his hand and wrist and his head was pounding. He hardly even noticed it. Steve fell forward against the stone, bracing himself on his elbows and dropping his head into his bruised hand.

What would happen now? He couldn’t possibly kill Bucky.

A voice called his name. It was tentative, full of concern. “Steve?”

For a few seconds, all he could hear was the sound of his own ragged breathing. He looked up slowly, wincing when he saw Tony walking towards him with heavy eyes. Steve considered hiding his hand from him, but he knew it was useless. Tony was too clever not to notice and keeping it behind his back or tucked into his jacket would just be an insult to them both.

Still, it took Tony a moment to take note of his injuries. When he did, though, he made a little cry of alarm. “What the hell?” he yelled, fingers hovering over Steve’s hand, and… Yeah, it was all shades of black, blue, and purple. So swollen the skin was shiny, stretched tight around them. If you knew what to look for, you could already see the serum kicking in, repairing every cell at top-speed, but for now, it just looked really bad. Steve sighed at the sight and brought his legs up so that he could rest his elbow on his knees.

“I know,” he said. “It was stupid.”

“ _Stupid_?” Tony echoed, and his voice held a mixture of horror and scorn. “Beating the wall _once_ is stupid. Smashing your fingers in the process is a pound short of a penny. Seriously Steve, did I just have a stroke, or are you completely insane now?”

“They’ll be fine in an hour.”

Tony sighed heavily, letting himself fall down into a sitting position in front of Steve. “Believe it or not, dearest husband of mine, but that’s not making me feel much better.”

“I’m sorry.” He looked to the hole in the wall next to him. “We need to repay Sam for the damage,” he murmured guiltily.

“I’ll take care of it,” Tony said with a small smile. Then, he laid a hand on Steve’s cheek, stroking the light stubble there. The corner of his mouth had turned up into a half-grin, but his brown eyes kept darting back to Steve’s injured hand in concern. “Can I get you something for that?” he asked.

Steve shook his head, then dropped it forward against Tony’s chest. He felt his own dog tags rest safely against Tony’s chest where they belonged, where he could see the outlines through his white shirt. He pressed a soft kiss against the dog tags, sighing when Tony’s arms wrapped around his body.

“You know she was likely in love with him, right?” Tony asked with a soft voice.

Steve sighed. “Yeah, I know.”

Tony nodded, then pressed a firm kiss against Steve’s temple. “Come on, let’s get inside. Sam is making breakfast and I need you to eat something before Thor inhales all the food. We’ll figure this out together, I promise.”


	4. Path Of Thorns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, guys! I hope I'll be able to post the next chaps a bit quicker! A special thank you to [morphia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/morphia/pseuds/morphia) who really helped me a lot with this chap. Ugh.

**Tony**

 

 

Given the amount of people confined to such a small space, the noise level should have been deadly. However, Sam’s kitchen was eerily silent.

Clint and Thor were munching on a stack of pancakes drenched in maple syrup, Natasha was rigidly staring out of the window, and Bruce—now wearing one of Sam’s pants and a shirt—was inspecting the gunshot wound beneath Tony’s left armpit while he was waiting for his cup of tea to steep. The graze was healing over quickly and with no signs of inflammation. It wasn’t that deep really, and they all knew that Extremis would fix it in no time, but both Bruce and Steve had insisted that it’d be cleaned to keep it from getting infected.

Sam handed Bruce a bottle of peroxide and a few strips of gauze from his first aid kit—before he wordlessly shoved an instant cold pack in Steve’s direction. Steve took it with a curt nod and a visible flush on his cheeks, but eventually pressed it to the back of his still-bruised hand.

After Steve’s little tête-à-tête with Sam’s garage wall, the two of them had been the last to sit down at the dinner table, and after that, everyone remained in silence for several minutes, before it threatened to consume them.

Tony certainly had never been an advocate of silence; especially when there was an alternative at the ready. For once, though, someone beat him to it.

“So, uh, you’re Thor,” Sam said, and there was the familiar disbelief clearly written all over his face as he took in Thor’s attire: Cape, Asgardian battle armor, hammer (which was currently dangling from the goddamn storage rack on the ceiling, next to a couple of saucepans), it was all there. Tony couldn’t really blame Sam for his blatant staring. They’d all been there at one point or another. “As in… the Thunder God,” Sam went on. He was moving about the kitchen, collecting ingredients for what Tony assumed would be a better breakfast than he’d had in weeks.

“Aye,” Thor said between bites, a tiny self-satisfied smile on his face.

Sam nodded. Then nodded some more. “Yeah, sure, that’s cool,” he said, glancing at Mjolnir for a second before he turned around to place another coffeepot on the counter.

“Steve told us you were an Air Force pilot?” Bruce prompted after a moment. He’d just finished wrapping a bandage around Tony’s shoulder and upper torso and now gave Sam a thankful smile as he cradled the cup of tea between both hands.

“Kind of,” Sam said with a light grin. “I served as a Pararescueman.”

“Iraq?” Clint asked, but Sam shook his head.

“Afghanistan.”

Tony frowned. That rang a bell. He accessed the Air Force servers via Extremis, opening Sam’s files. A lot of information was blacked out, but it wasn’t overly hard to find backup copies of the original files. Samuel Thomas Wilson, 36 years old, grown up in Harlem. Father, Paul Wilson. Mother, Darlene Wilson. Both deceased before Sam had reached maturity. He’d served as a Pararescueman, and worked with the 58th rescue squadron for two years. He and his fellow paratrooper Riley had been the first test pilots for the… _EXO-7 Falcon mechanical wings_.

Well. Would you look at that.

Tony blinked himself back into the room. “You’re one of the guys who apprehended Khalid Khandil three years ago,” he stated, snorting at the absurdity of it all. What were the goddamn odds that Steve would _literally_ run into the guy who’d piloted Tony’s long-forgotten baby-project? “Obie told me the wings had been lost in combat.”

Sam blinked, only then realizing what Tony was saying. “Well that’s true, in Riley’s case, mine though… okay, wait. Are you saying _you_ made my wings? They never even told us who the fabricator was and there wasn’t a Stark Industries emblem, as far as I remember it.”

“We tried to keep it low-key. They’d been kind of a prototype that—strictly speaking—hadn’t made it into production.”

Across from Tony, Natasha seemed to shake herself out of her own stupor, arching a brow at Sam. “Bakhmala, you mean?” she asked with a low smile. “That’s very impressive for a guy with basically no training.”

Sam scoffed. “Excuse me? I served for years before I even joined Air Force. They made me go through another _year-long_ intensive physical and tactical training program before joining my squadron.”

Natasha smiled kindly, and when she looked at Clint, they said in tandem, “Basically no training.”

Next to Tony, Steve shook his head, as if forcing himself back to the present. “I, uh—sorry— _wings?_ What are you talking about?” he asked.

Tony grabbed for his phone and opened an old blueprint of the EXO-7, showing it to Steve.

Steve frowned at the display. “I never heard about those.”

“’Course you didn’t. I made them long before I became Iron Man,” Tony explained. “As I said, they never made it past prototype. Obviously, I could do much better today, but at the time, those babies were badass.”

Steve huffed, flashing a little smile, before Tony felt the welcoming pressure of his hand on his lower back. “I’m sure they were.”

Sam nodded in agreement. “They worked like a dream. Never let me down.”

“Nothing I built is a let-down, wing-boy,” Tony said with a smile. “So, I take it you were pretty good with maneuvering them?”

Sam squared his back. “I’d say so, yes. Flying is what I miss most.”

Tony hummed in understanding, not sure if he should press any further. Steve wouldn’t appreciate it if Tony talked Sam into what they _all_ knew this conversation was heading towards, that much he knew.

The next second, though, Sam finally got on with the program. “So, uhm, I know I’m not a super-soldier or anything, but… if you guys need another set of arms for your little crisis, I’d like to help.”

Steve sighed heavily, and Tony realized that he too had expected—and probably dreaded—those words all along. Tony found he still often underestimated the level of Steve’s empathy. “You got out for a good reason, Sam,” Steve said quietly. “I didn’t come here to bring you into this mess.”

“Dude, I could work alongside the Avengers,” Sam ventured and Tony saw the corner of his mouth lift in a half-grin. “There’s no better reason to get back in.”

Tony smiled. He could see now why Steve liked the guy so much.

Tony leaned further into Steve’s side and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, we could really use someone who isn’t on SHIELD’s top priority list right now. Someone Pierce doesn’t expect. Besides, you always say we need more flight power anyways.”

At that, the stern façade that had guarded Steve’s exterior faded, and he offered Sam a kind smile. “Tony’s right about that,” he complied, then made a dramatic pause that was obviously more a matter of principle than anything else. “All right,” he conceded, pointing down on the Falcon blueprints on Tony’s phone. “You know where we can get our hands on one of these?”

“As far as I know the last pair is at Fort Meade,” Sam answered, then cleared his throat. “Behind three guarded gates and a 12-inch steel wall.”

He was met with six bemused smiles. Bruce shrugged, saying, “Well, that’s really not going to be a problem.”

Steve’s brow furrowed in consideration. He glanced back to Tony, eyes ablaze with uncertainty. “We still have to meet up with Fury. The sooner the better.”

“I know.”

There was a little pause and Tony could almost see the gears turning in Steve’s head. “Natasha and Sam,” he said, eventually, putting the upmost professionalism into his voice, “you’ll come with me and Tony. Thor, you’ll take Clint and Bruce with you. Retrieve the wings, and come back to DC as fast as you can. We’ll all meet up at Fury’s checkpoint. Status reports only via our private servers.”

Clint huffed, pointing back and forth between Thor and Bruce. “And what am I supposed to do, exactly? Cheering them on?”

“Every brunt force needs someone to point it in the right direction,” Steve said simply. Then, he started to tap the fork in his hand against the discarded plate in front of him, pinging it with growing force each time it hit the edge of the plate. It was a little nervous tick of his, one Tony found endlessly endearing.

There was no doubt in his mind that Steve would eventually forgive Natasha and Clint for their deceit, but that day clearly wasn’t today. His face was still devoid of all color; a muscle constantly twitching along his jaw and Tony could only imagine what went through his head right now.

It took a few long minutes, before Steve breathed in deep, then looked up at all of them, his expression stern but non-accusatory. “From here on, I need you all to be honest with me. We’re a team, and record shows we’re a good one. I can accept that there are some things you can’t or don’t want to tell me, I’m not so naive as to expect you to share all of your secrets, but I need you to be honest about the things that matter. With the way things are changing right now, I need to be sure that we can tell each other everything.”

There was an uncomfortable silence at that. The more time passed, the more Tony saw Steve’s jaw tightening, his expression falling into one of resignation, and Tony was well aware of the significance of this moment. The unspoken ‘what if’ hung in the air but remained unspoken: What if they couldn’t find common ground?

“We always try to be honest with you, Cap,” Clint said, and they all looked at him cautiously. He was perched at the ready, studying Steve with shades of worry. As though Steve was a nuclear explosion waiting to happen. A particularly deep exhale left Clint’s lips, before he continued, “I know you think this is about us being trained for espionage, and sure, yeah, that’s always a part of who we are. There’s stuff I wouldn’t tell either of you, ever, and if I _want_ to lie to you, you’d never know. But that’s not why we didn’t tell you about Barnes.”

“Then _why_?” Steve demanded, though his voice was far more self-controlled than before.

“Because,” Clint continued, “we knew what knowing about him would do to you. We like you, Steve. You were a bit like a lost puppy back then, but we liked you right from the start. You were our friend, and we _knew_ you wouldn’t have found him, no matter how hard you tried, because we’ve _been_ there. It wasn’t the time to tell you, simple as that.” He paused and then continued in a kinder tone. “You don’t know what they did to him. You haven’t seen the pictures we’ve seen. For decades, he killed in the most heinous manners possible. What does that tell you about his capacity for good?”

Steve didn’t have an answer for him, and after a moment, he stood up, walking a few steps towards the sink, and turning his back on them as he stared out of the little window.

The larger part of Tony itched to go to Steve and make it all better. He wanted to take him into his arms, and get the fuck out of here, away from all the pain. Right now.

But the smaller, more reasonable voice reminded him that this was something Steve had to work through eventually. And he would. He knew Steve well enough that he could almost see the plan formulating behind his eyes; the promise to free Barnes, damn all the obstacles. Steve always kept his word. And nothing short of a shot to the heart could keep him from doing what he thought was right.

“I can’t believe it’s really _Bucky_.” Steve’s voice was very quiet. He hung his head, his back still turned in their direction. “I’ve been mourning him for so long… I just can’t get it into my head that he’s still here.” He turned around with that, his face more collected—back straightened, voice raised. “I’m not deluding myself when it comes to who he is right now. But I know exactly who he was before. I know the kind of person he still _is_ deep down.”

A few beats ticked by, the air lingering with their mingled breaths. Then, Natasha glanced up pensively, her eyes focusing on something across the room instead of looking at Steve. “Even if he is still there. Decades of indoctrination won’t just vanish into thin air. He’s not just going to know right from wrong because you want him to,” she said haltingly. “Even if you get through to him, he’s _always_ going to struggle; _always_ going to be tempted. And he’s going to make mistakes over and over again.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Steve said shortly. “I need to get him out of there, and if it takes months—or years—for him to come back to himself, then so be it. I would never just abandon him because it’s difficult.”

Natasha huffed, but there was something very soft and very warm flickering across her face.

“And don’t pretend to be indifferent, Natasha, I know you feel the same way,” Steve said.

Natasha arched a brow, picking at the layer of polish on her thumbnail. “And what makes you think that?”

“Because if you really thought things were hopeless… if you’d really stopped caring about him like you say… you wouldn’t still be wearing the dog tags he gave you.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

It took three sweeps of the city before Maria Hill finally sent them their current location. All the while, an hour rolled by with long conversations, all with the loom of the impending storm weighing over their heads. The uncertainty of where the future would take them… of where to search for a solution.

Thor, Bruce and Clint had already departed for Maryland, while Sam directed the SUV through the busy streets. Tony had activated the com-line, directing their new location to Bruce’s phone via Extremis.

Steve sat next to Sam. He’d changed into a black T-shirt and jeans. Over the growl of the engine he and Natasha discussed the best way to infiltrate the Helicarriers while they were still on the ground. They cut off as the tablet in Tony’s palm began to beep. He didn’t look down at it, didn’t need to, his black eyes still fixed on Steve. “Insight’s launching in sixteen hours.”

Natasha sighed as she leaned over from her place next to Tony, looking down on the countdown. “We’re cutting a little bit close here.”

“I know,” Steve said. “That’s why we need Fury to bypass the DNA scans and access the Helicarriers directly.” He looked at Tony from the front passenger seat. “Run it by me again?” he asked.

“The Insight Helicarriers scratch people off the list,” Tony explained patiently. “A few millions at a time. Zola’s algorithm locates every person or institution that poses a threat to HYDRA. I already sent encrypted evacuation notices to the locations on the list, but… we won’t be able to save all of them… not sure we’d be able to save half, to be honest.”

“And there’s no way to shut it off?”

It was a strange feeling to admit that, no, there wasn’t. Not in such a short amount of time, anyway. “Zola’s AI is constantly rewriting itself. It’s not a code I need to crack once, it’s… a Million different codes that are already gonna be invalid once I’m past the first barriers.” He sighed with frustration. “It’s not _impossible_ , so to speak, but it’s… it’s a bit like trying to take JARVIS down while he fights you tooth and nail. It’s not easy in the first place—only I haven’t programmed this AI myself, which makes it a shitload harder.”

Steve nodded thoughtfully. “Then we need to take them down manually.”

As soon as Tony opened his mouth to say something, a sudden dart-like contraption came flying out of nowhere, impaling Steve’s headrest about two inches away from his left ear. They both jumped back in shock, then whirled around to see the Winter Soldier standing on the street right in front of them.

Tony’d seen many pictures of Bucky Barnes over the last year. He’d seen videos of a young man smiling at Steve, laughing with him. It was hard to imagine that he and the man with black pants, mask, and brown filthy hair were the same person.

Tony yelped when Steve threw himself over the back of his seat, right into the place between him and Natasha. As soon as he heard Steve’s muffled grunt from the impact of the attack, the Winter Soldier was in front of the car in a flash, and a second later, Tony heard the _thump_ - _thump_ of his boots landing heavily on the roof of their car.

The car shook from the turbulence and weight on top of it, and then it was mayhem, with dozens of HYDRA agents running at them from every which direction.

“Down!” Natasha yelled, already moving to get Sam out of his seat. Tony quickly obliged, sinking down in the footwell-area with his knees pulled to his chest. They made it to the floor, Steve raising his shield above their heads, just in time before the upper half of the car was all but ripped away. An awful grinding sound of metal against metal filled the air, deafeningly loud. The car shuddered, slowed, but it didn’t stop, and it sounded like the grille was getting torn in two.

Sam hit the brakes, and Barnes flew over the window and on the street.

Simultaneously, they all jumped out of the car. And then, another van spun towards them and Natasha charged into Steve and Tony, making them both fall down on the street. A second later, there were several shots, missing them by mere inches. Tony watched from the ground as the van collided with their SUV, falling on top of it. After a few moments passed, they all stood up.

“Sam?” Natasha yelled, but Sam was already there, covering behind the car next to them.

Steve turned around, staring to where the Winter Soldier got back on his feet. “I need you to have my back for this,” he told Tony with a firm voice, taking hold of his shield.

“Please don’t,” Tony choked out, trying to grab for Steve’s hand. “Not now, we don’t have a plan for this.”

“He won’t remember,” Natasha told Steve firmly.

Steve straightened up, determination written all over his face. “He will.”

Tony just stared at him, unable to think of a good enough answer that didn’t contain the words _please_ and _don’t_. There was obvious doubt in Steve’s eyes, but all of that was over-layered with so much damn stubbornness, that Tony knew his next words before he ever opened his mouth. “You need to let me try. I might not get another chance.”

“He will _kill_ you,” Tony yelled at him, but Steve—the goddamn bastard—was already up and running.

Tony groaned, standing up. “Right,” he called after him. “Thanks for always talking to me!”

“Does he always just… jump into the thick of it?” Sam asked, horrified as Steve punched his way through the masses of HYDRA agents.

“Yes, it’s his thing,” Natasha said shortly, catching her breath. Then, she grabbed Sam by the arm, pulling him around the car.

Instantly, Tony connected to Extremis and called Iron Man to him, watching as the red and gold plates bled across his body. Once he was encased in metal, the faceplate slid shut, and JARVIS pointed him to the two dozen HYDRA agents in front of him. He flew upwards, shooting repulsor blasts at the men closing up on Steve.

Beneath him, Natasha twisted her body towards the back seat and reached into a bag, pulling out two guns, pressing them into Sam’s palm. There was no time for him to really check if they were armed and ready, but this was Natasha, so they probably were. She pulled out a few daggers, too, and pushed them into the straps of her uniform.

“If you have a clear shot at the Winter Soldier, aim for his legs,” Natasha ordered.

“Right.” Sam nodded, and together, they made their way through the chaos. Natasha and Sam stayed well hidden by the cars, while Tony flew across the scene. Sam’s leather jacket flapped as he jumped and spun, shooting two to the ground and landing between them. Natasha whipped out one dagger after another and hurled them with a marksman’s precision. The HYDRA agents gurgled as blood spewed from their necks and in no time, half a dozen had fallen to the ground. The rest of the men turned in their direction and away from Steve, which had been their plan exactly.

“Bucky!” Steve shouted in the distance, jumping forward over the guard railing in an attempt to block the Winter Soldier’s path. Tony rushed in their direction, and watched as Barnes—now maskless—stopped in his tracks. He turned around to stare at Steve impassively, as if politely waiting for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, his blank expression changed to one of mild confusion.

_“Who the hell is Bucky?”_

Tony could see the hope in Steve’s expression crumble somewhat. “Bucky,” Steve echoed hoarsely, hands coming up as if in surrender. “I know you don’t remember… but your name is _James Buchanan Barnes_.”

Barnes only stared at Steve some more, before he turned around swiftly, eyes landing on Tony where he hovered over the scene, keeping the HYDRA agents away from where Steve and Barnes stood.

“My name is Steve,” Steve told Barnes, patting his own chest to establish familiarity with the name. “Steve Rogers. I’m your best friend and I’ve come to take you _home_.”

For a second, Tony thought he might have seen a flicker of recognition on Barnes’ face; a flicker which quickly proved to be nothing. Tony’s heart fell. He should have predicted the possibility that Barnes wouldn’t recognize Steve at all. And he should have stopped Steve from getting his hopes up.

The next second, Barnes’ metal fist smashed right into Steve’s cheekbone.

Steve staggered back, blocking the next blow. “You _know_ me!”

“Net, ya ne,” Barnes snarled in Russian. And the next thing Tony knew, Barnes grabbed Steve by his throat and then Steve was airborne, barreling into the next car. Steve grunted, ducking a wild punch aimed at his jaw. The situation was quickly spiraling out of control. Every swing between them became more violent, and though there was a sizable part of Tony that usually enjoyed watching Steve fight, it was damn difficult to do so with the looming danger of him getting killed by his best friend any second.

Barnes heaved another brutal swing, but Steve caught this one in midair and used the leverage to deliver a kick to Barnes’ lower back. For a moment, it looked like Steve might get him down on the ground, but then, Barnes leaped upward and smashed his boot against Steve’s face, knocking him to the ground for good.

Enough was enough.

Tony went straight for Barnes, scaled the side of the guard railing in a running jump and used the force behind his thrusters to kick him forward onto his back. He could’ve killed Barnes then, and easily so. His target system gave him several clear signals. One quick repulsor shot and it would’ve been over.

“Tony, don’t…” Steve pleaded, knowing exactly what was happening, as he tried to get back on his feet with visible strain. “We need to get him out of here, we need…” Steve coughed, staggering for a second, and Tony turned around to really look at him, checking him for wounds, for anything, when—

The ground beneath Tony’s feet vanished, and in a flurry he was crashing hard onto the asphalt. It took a few seconds before the stars dancing around his head faded, even longer until he realized Barnes was standing over him, his metal hand closed around Tony’s left gauntlet in a death grip.

Barnes didn’t waste any time. He quickly pushed, flipping Tony over on his side. He grabbed for Tony’s other arm, moving both upwards so Tony couldn’t shoot at him, then wrapped his legs around his middle in a firm hold.

If Tony’d had _one_ second more, he could’ve given his foot thrusters maximum power and pushed himself upwards and into the air, but Barnes didn’t give him that second. His free hand produced a small knife seemingly out of nowhere and within the fracture of a second, he let go of the gauntlets, grabbed the knife with his metal hand, and pushed it down.

Now, Tony had always taken pride in the fact that the suit had about zero loopholes. Of course, being a scientist, he knew that, by law of physics, everything had a weak spot, but over the years he’d taken great efforts to make Iron Man as safe as possible. And thus, it came as a bit of a surprise when Barnes simply slid his knife between the suit’s ab-plates, and drove it straight into Tony’s abdomen.

He’d known before it happened. JARVIS had made the calculations long before the knife even pierced his body.

This was going to hurt. A lot.

Barnes pushed the knife deep into Tony’s body, then twisted it until the handle snapped off, leaving the blade stuck in Tony’s body. The pain both knocked the metaphoric wind out of Tony and rendered him momentarily dazed, and therefore defenseless against Barnes’ attempts to rip off more parts of the armor. He had to give the assassin kudos—he really fucking knew how to make it hurt. This was pain in a category all on its own; pain he hadn’t felt since Maya Hansen had injected his body with Extremis. Pain that rocketed through every corner of his body.

 _Fuck_.

A wild fist flew toward Barnes’ face and the next second, Steve threw him off Tony. Barnes quickly tried to deflect and countered the move with a swipe at Steve’s legs, but Steve seized the opportunity to grip Barnes and haul him onto the next car.

Quickly, Natasha replaced his position. She grabbed Barnes by the stringy brown hairs and pulled. The shooter yelped and fell on his back, his blue eyes wide, as Natasha straddled his upper body to hold him down.

Panting and resting his hands on his knees, Steve took a moment to collect himself; then he turned around to stare at Tony—first at him, then down at his stomach. He obviously tried not to let it show too much, but the horror in his eyes was unmistakable.

Tony didn’t have to look to know that this didn’t look all that good.

“I’ll get you out of here,” Steve said with a raspy voice.

Tony nodded shortly and watched as a van came to a skidding halt next to them. Steve rushed over to open the sliding door. He quickly scooped Tony’s form up after throwing his shield into the car.

Natasha jumped to their side out of nowhere, and leaned down to check Tony’s body for injuries, freezing when she noticed what was probably a lot of blood soaking right through his shirt. “Stay awake, okay?” she asked softly.

“Sure,” he whispered thinly, but the pain was already fading into a dull ache, fatigue taking its place, and as much as he struggled to hang on—to see what had happened with Barnes—he couldn’t.

He didn’t remember much of what followed after that. Consciousness was an on and off sensation, but he realized that everyone—even Thor, Bruce and Clint—were in the van with them. They weren’t moving, as far as he could tell. Distantly, he heard Steve yelling at someone about how their priority was getting Tony out of here, not to take hostages. Belatedly, he watched his team fighting off the remaining HYDRA agents, when at once, they all broke off the attack, their attention drawn elsewhere. Acting quickly, lest their attention shift again, Bruce grabbed Tony under his shoulders and pulled him fully onto the backseat.

“We need to get him out,” Bruce told Steve. “Right now.”

Tony tried to sit up. “Steve—” he rasped.

“I’m here,” Steve said, as he sat down next to Tony. He leaned forward, yelling at whoever the driver was to move, _move now_ , just as Tony’s eyes closed and darkness fell.

He didn’t know how much time had passed before the car came to a stop. Tony groaned as Bruce nudged him gently. “Sorry, I need you to stay awake.”

Natasha leaned over him, too, Clint and Thor behind her. “Is he going to make it?” Thor asked softly.

There was a long pause.

“He’s losing a lot of blood, but Extremis should be able to fix this. We just need him to stay conscious.”

“Blade,” Tony rasped, then groaned, when Bruce pressed a compression bandage further on the wound. “Still stuck.”

“What?” Bruce asked with an incredulous tone. For a long second, he stared down at Tony’s abdomen, before glancing back at him with a distinctively more worried expression. “Just try to stay conscious, I’ll get it out.”

With each second, the vertigo intensified, throbbing and twisting nauseatingly; it felt as though each movement was shifting the blade inside. He hadn’t noticed how bad it had been at first. Now that the adrenalin had died down, the stabbing pain was like a siren, impossible to ignore.

An eternity later, the door of the car opened. “Get him inside,” someone ordered from afar. “We have basic medical equipment down the stairs, the first door on the left.”

Steve was leaning over him. Bracing himself against the car floor on Tony’s good side, he lifted him up. Tony’s head lulled before coming to a rest on Steve’s shoulder,  making Natasha and Clint exchange worried looks.

“What the hell even happened there?” Clint asked. “Did you find Barnes?”

Steve’s jaw tightened. The look on his face betrayed him—the unmistakable guilt that suggested beyond reason that he was responsible for Tony’s state. For all his big talks at how Tony shouldn’t always blame things on himself, he sure wasn’t faring much better.

“We found him alright,” Steve murmured.

“And?” Thor asked.

Sam and Natasha were shaking their heads in tandem.

At that moment, Hill walked up next to them, staring down at Tony with something that wasn’t quite horror, but not much else either. “Get him inside, then we’ll discuss what happened.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

By the time they got into the safe house’s basement, Tony was struggling not to pass out, despite the pain. The bleeding had mostly stopped oozing out, but he knew there was some serious mess inside, and someone was going to have to get the damned blade out before it wreaked too much havoc for Extremis to fix. He wasn’t one hundred percent sure what would happen if they didn’t get it out in time, and he didn’t exactly want to find out. Extremis was running on high alert, but as long as the blade was still stuck in his body, it remained inactive—only supplying information on how critical his condition actually was.

“Brucie,” he spoke quietly as they neared the front door, “pierced m’spleen. There’s… ruptures…”

Looking down at Tony’s face, Bruce nodded his head. “It’s fixable. Just stay with us, you hear me? Let’s get inside and I’ll get it out.”

Gesturing the others to hold open the door, Steve gingerly maneuvered him over the threshold and into a room that strongly smelled like hospital. God, Tony hated hospitals.

‘Basic medical equipment’ turned out to be two rusty small beds, a wall of cabinets, a few instrument tables, shelves, an old monitor and even older machinery.

“It’s one of the few safe houses not listed on SHIELD’s servers,” Hill explained to Bruce, who’d cast her a disbelieving look upon inspecting the state of the room.

From his position on one of the small beds, Fury sat up. He watched everyone file in, took one look at Tony and rolled his eyes. “Of course it’s you,” he said and made to stand up on somewhat shaky legs.

“Steve, can you…” Bruce prompted, waving at Tony’s armor, while he and Hill rushed to the next cabinet, scanning its content for what Tony hoped was morphine that hadn’t expired yet.

Steve nodded curtly. Tony grimaced as he eased him down onto the spare bed, and winced even more as he kneeled over his crotch and set to work, getting plate after plate off of Tony’s body with marksman precision.

“Familiar situation, different circumstances,” Tony joked with a little hysteric giggle. However, Steve’s closed-up expression didn’t waver once, his movements were fast and effective, as he single-mindedly pressed button after button, baring most of Tony’s body, before he moved aside.

“What happened?” Fury asked next to him.

Steve huffed, before rubbing his forehead. “Let’s just say the first encounter between my best friend and my husband didn’t go all that well.”

“Any luck over there?” Tony ground out in Bruce’s direction, despair mingling with reason. “Painkillers? Or alcohol, how about alcohol.”

“Painkillers,” Steve supplied gently.

Bruce nodded. He was already fixing up an infusion, and Tony was so out of it, he didn’t even feel the needle pierce his arm.

“I’ll try to hunt down a first aid kit and some grub,” Clint said, making his way to the next door.

Fury cast a wary gaze to the soaked bandages on Tony’s body, worry lines creasing his face. “Will the virus take care of that?” he asked.

Answering him over his shoulder, Bruce said, “It should, yes. The blade’s still in there, and we need to get it out before Extremis can heal the wound. Plier?”

The look on Steve’s face was indescribable. Anger, guilt, fear and a hundred other things played across his features. “You sure you can do that?” he asked, clearly trying not to sound like he was doubting Bruce’s capability, and failing epically. “I mean… you aren’t a real doctor. You said so yourself. And Tony…”

Bruce smiled at him reassuringly. “I can do it.”

“Might as well start now.” Tony would rather get this over and done with. The morphine was rushing through his blood, making the dull ache fade into nothing and his head go even lighter, but Tony needed Extremis to finally get on with the healing program.

“Right. Steve, you gotta hold him down. Tony,” Bruce pursed his lips in sympathy. “Don’t fight blacking out.”

Eyeing him worriedly, Steve made to kneel right behind Tony’s head, one arm wrapped around his shoulders, the other grabbing for Tony’s hand. Distantly, Tony noticed Thor stepping up to his feet, pushing both hands down on his ankles, and Natasha and Clint almost casually taking stand on the other side of the bed. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure he’d have the energy to put up a fight at this point. The morphine was making him far too drowsy.

Once everyone was in position, Bruce worked rapidly to get the blade out of Tony’s body. Tony jumped with the first prodding, then groaned in discomfort. The pain was blessedly gone, but he could still _feel everything_. When Bruce paused, he muttered “just fucking _do_ it.”

He closed his eyes, trying to just let the blackness take him, but he wasn’t quite there, yet. Steve held onto him, whispering words into his ear, probably trying to get him to focus on something else, but Tony was already too fuzzy to tell him he needn’t bother. When Bruce finally got a good grip on the blade and started to pull, Tony bucked against the bed beneath him. Goddammit, there really was something about the feeling of cold metal slicing against your insides.

At one point, he could swear he felt Natasha and Clint both push a hand on his legs, calming him, or trying to keep him still, he couldn’t quite tell. Steve held onto his shoulders, his face now tucked hard against Tony’s neck, kissing his skin with trembling lips. “Almost done, sweetheart,” he kept repeating. “Don’t fight it. Just let go. Don’t fight it.”

Tony wanted to answer him, tell him it was okay, that he was going to be fine, but all he could manage were faint mumbles. The last inch was the worst, anticipation and anxiety piquing Tony back to mild awareness, and Bruce seemed to have a hell of a time trying to get it out the way it got in. He moved the blade, and Tony groaned a complaint, his eyes shutting as tight as his loose muscles would let him. No one spoke, and Steve just held him closer.

Pressing his face against Steve’s cheek, Tony knew only two things: Steve, and the blessed, medicated nothingness, finally—mercifully—engulfing his mind.


	5. World On Fire

**Tony**

 

 

When Tony woke, he was encompassed in softness. It was all around him. Everywhere. A hazy fog that clouded his mind with pure radiance.

_Dead. Fuck, I’m dead._

No. He definitely remembered how it had felt to die. There, lying down on the cold asphalt in his own blood, the arc reactor crushed and deformed in his chest—it hadn’t felt like this. It hadn’t felt so blissful.

At some point, he must have passed out, because when he came to, Natasha was already un-bandaging his upper body. Seeing he was awake again, she spoke, “Clint bought some new bandages. I figured it was best to do it while you were out. Do you feel any better?”

Slurring a “no” at her, Tony tried to sit up. God, he was stoned out of his mind. And the morphine they’d put into his bloodstream was definitely the good stuff.

Natasha threw him a little smile. He vaguely remembered that she’d taken a few bad hits on the bridge, but she was already looking much better, though her face was still shadowed with bruises. She was dressed in a big black hunting jacket and a pair of men’s trousers. Her red hair hung messily around her face.

“Don’t get up yet,” she said softly.

Tony closed his eyes, because the bright lights in this room were all kinds of wrong, and mumbled with a small smile, “Doctor’s orders?”

“Team’s orders,” Natasha countered and there were fingers softly trailing over his forehead. “You’re gonna be alright, but you’re not allowed to move yet. Extremis kicked in some time after you passed out, but the rupture might take another day or two to heal properly.”

Tony groaned and squinted distastefully at his body. _A day or two._ If things with Pierce came to a close, he wouldn’t be able to pilot Iron Man like this—or rather, Steve wouldn’t deem him fit enough to join the fight. He would put him on the bench with nothing more than a worried but oh so stern glance and there was _nothing_ Tony could do about it.

When it came to the Avengers, Steve was the boss. It was just how things were between them, and one of the many reasons why their relationship was as stable as it was. And while they often argued about some random mission strategy, he wouldn’t go and simply disobey Steve’s orders if he didn’t absolutely have to.

“’s Steve?” he asked with a noticeable slur, slowly realizing that he’d just woken up from an almost-fatal stabbing wound and his husband wasn’t there to pity him like he fucking well should.

“He’s upstairs,” Natasha explained. “Strategizing.”

Tony huffed and fell back on the bed. “’s fantastic at that,” he admitted. Then, he bit his lower lip and snickered, “He’s fantastic at ev’rything… ‘s so fantastic. ‘m so lucky. Such a lucky _lucky_ man…”

Trace of a smile curling her lips, Natasha petted his head affectionately. “You sure are, sweetie. Just ride it out.”

The haze of the painkillers made it seem like time alternately crept by and passed in a flash.  All the while, Natasha worked in silence, cleaning Tony’s wounds and smoothing some sort of clear gel over his abdomen. Then, raising her eyebrows, she asked, “I’ve got some water for you. You should drink something.”

There was a pause as he attempted to collect himself. “’re you gonna answer me a question if I do?”

Natasha’s eyes glinted back with mischief. “If you still remember the question in a minute, sure.”

Tony snorted, perfectly aware that she was making fun of him and his drug-addled brain. Finishing with the gel, she pulled a pad of white fabric from her med kit and started taping it over his wound. “Bruce did a very good job with pulling the blade out,” she said as she worked. “You’re very lucky he was around.”

He couldn’t help but smile back at her, probably far too wide and far too open, but alas. Natasha had seen him in various states of sleep-deprived clumsiness by now and Tony had long stopped gauging his every move around her. She made to stand up, grabbing for a bottle of water and pushing a straw through the opening.

Tony took a breath, trying to sort through the haze in his mind. There had been something he’d wanted to ask her, right? Something about Natasha and… _ah, fuck_. “Ah, fuck,” he voiced eloquently, staring helplessly into space.

Natasha held the straw for him, smiling kindly as he took a long sip. “You wanted to ask me how I met James Barnes,” she said, not an ounce of doubt in her voice.

Oh. _Right_.

“Oh. Right,” Tony agreed, and, well, there went his brain-to-mouth-filter. Great. “’s… wha’ssat about? You… don’t lie t’me. Not tha’ I’d know if you did, ‘cause I never fuckin’ do, but… don’t. You ‘rly loved tha’ guy?”

Natasha pursed her lips, and regarded him for a long moment, before she started to speak. “We worked together for the KGB for a few years—or HYDRA. Can’t really be sure about that anymore.” There was a moment’s consideration, her gaze not swaying from Tony’s face. “He had part in my training, and after that, they had us go on a few missions together, most of them overseas. I was still very young, so I regarded him as some kind of mentor. He didn’t mean much of anything to me, aside from being someone I looked up to. He was never… awake for more than a week at a time and every time we met again, he had no idea who I was.”

Tony watched her as she unrolled a length of gauze, pulling him forward into a hug so she could wind it round his chest, and then around his abdomen. She slowly finished bandaging, then began returning the equipment she’d used into the box. By the time she spoke up again, Tony had almost forgotten what they’d been talking about. Above them, rain roared loud against the walls, as though the raindrops drumming on the roof were trying to wash away her words.

“I don’t know when things started to change, exactly, don’t know when I…” She sighed, closing her eyes with shades of self-irritation. Natasha wasn’t one to allow herself to show emotions at the flick of a wrist, and the possibility alone had Tony spell-bound. “I loved him as much as I could,” she continued. “Which wasn’t much considering who I was. Who he was. We were never what you’d consider a real couple. We never had what you and Steve have. We weren’t close… You can’t be close to someone who, as soon as he starts to realize that you might mean something to him, is already about to forget you again…” Looking down at the drained bottle of water, she asked, “Want another one?”

Tony shook his head as if to clear it. It took him a moment to sort through her words, and when he did, he almost couldn’t believe this had actually happened. This was the first time that he’d heard Natasha talk about her past. He wondered if she only did it now because he’d likely forget it again in a few hours, or if she’d actually decided to open up to him. When she sat down next to him, he touched her hand, squeezing it gently. “’s there any chance he’ll remember him?”

“He never did with me.” The little smile rising to her lips seemed a little bit too self-conscious for Tony’s comfort.

“’m sorry,” he murmured.

Natasha shrugged, as if genuinely unbothered. “Don’t be. He knew Steve from before the implants. Maybe those memories are stronger.”

It obviously wasn’t her fault he didn’t remember her, and Tony wanted to tell her that, but Natasha only smiled and shook her head. The next second, the med kit shut with a definite metallic snap. Natasha picked it up, standing. Her face was closed off and Tony knew she wouldn’t want the comfort—she’d made up her mind about Bucky Barnes long ago.

“Sleep a little more,” she ventured softly. “I’m sure Steve’ll come down soon.”

He reached for her hand, delicately caressing her knuckles with his thumb. “I’m sorry about what I said earlier… when I found out. You’re a good friend, and you care. I know that…”

Natasha smiled, nodded, and leaned down to press a light kiss on his forehead. Then, she left the room.

Tony settled back against the pillow, willing away the fog that clouded his mind. He must’ve drifted off at some point, because when he opened his eyes again, Steve was sitting at his side. He was already wearing his uniform; the shield leaning against his chair. If Tony had to guess then time was probably running out on them and he wondered how long he’d been out.

Steve was still hunched over, face pressed into both hands. Only when Tony shifted on the bed, he did look up.

“How do you feel?” Steve asked with a rough voice, moving closer and reaching for Tony’s hand.

Tony settled on his side, trying to get comfortable. The motion caused a dull pain to itch through his abdomen, jostling every raw nerve that had made contact with that damn knife. A small groan edged through his lips, and he shook his head as if to urge the feeling away. He felt a lot more sober now, which explained the dull pain in his upper body, but the world was still somewhat woozy. “I’ve been better. Also been worse,” he settled on eventually.

Pain swarmed behind Steve’s eyes; pain and bone-deep guilt. He knew it well enough to identify it anywhere. It was then he noticed Steve was trembling.

“Hey, no,” Tony said, reaching out for him. “Don’t do that.”

Steve’s other hand pressed against Tony’s cheek, his fingers lightly exploring the softened hair in Tony’s neck. “I’m so sorry you got hurt,” he spoke quietly. “I don’t think I’ve… I didn’t think this through. I was reckless, and impulsive…”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “So? You did what I usually do. What all of us do at some point or the other. Captain America being impulsive is not the end of the world—well, probably.”

Steve glared at him. The trembles wracking his form were becoming more pronounced. As though he could not contain himself. “Don’t make this a joke. After everything that happened last year, everything we went through, I should’ve known better. I shouldn’t have taken such high risks, I…” His head bowed reverently. “If you’re mad at me, that’s all right. I deserve that, I…” He trailed off, and it was such a strange expression etched on Steve’s face. Despite the two-something-years they were together now, Tony didn’t think he had ever seen Steve thoroughly unhinged to the point where he didn’t know what to say. He had often come unglued, but never to the point of losing his ability to voice what he was thinking.

Tony sighed, delicately running a hand up Steve’s arms to link behind his neck. He brought their foreheads together, rejoicing in the contact. “I’m not mad at you,” he whispered against Steve’s lips. “Of course I’m not. Occupational hazard, right? I knew the risk going in. We all do. We’re a team, or did you already forget your own words?”

Steve shook his head in stubborn denial. “This is different. I knew he wasn’t responding to my words, and I kept pushing. I pushed until he did this to you.”

“Babe, it wasn’t your fault.”

“How can you—”

“Okay. You don’t believe that, obviously. How about this: I don’t blame you. Not at all.”

Steve blinked at him, then choked as he pressed up more firmly against Tony’s chest. “I’m not alright.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Tony said with a sympathetic chuckle.

“I think I’m about as far from alright as anyone could be right now. The way he looked at me when I said his name… _God_ , there wasn’t… he had no idea who I was. He didn’t know me.”

Tony made no move to disguise the breath that lodged in his throat. “And you believe in him anyway, sweetheart. You can’t fool me, you know? You’ll try again, and at some point, he’ll recognize you, I’m sure of it.”

“You have no idea,” Steve said hoarsely, “how much I wanna believe that.”

Tony offered a small smile. “You should,” he whispered. “I said it, so it’s likely true.”

“I don’t understand how they could do this to him.”

“Neither do I.” Tony’s hand clutched at Steve and he fell against him willingly, his own arms pulling Tony closer into his embrace. “Shh,” Tony murmured soothingly. “It’s alright. Everything’s gonna be alright. We’re just gonna keep trying. It’s what we do.”

Steve pulled back at that and practically attacked Tony’s lips with his own. Tony remained in stunned delirium before Steve’s tongue pushed into his mouth, and then he was all but ravaging him. The pent up tension, the longing, the worry—everything poured into one simple kiss. They nibbled and tasted each other. Needing far more than could be given right now.

“I love you so much,” Steve whispered against his lips, licking into his mouth before Tony could even reply. He tasted Tony fully, openly, giving no want for restraint. Steve’s hands were pulling at his shoulders, then combing through his hair. The taste of Steve had him drunk, and it had nothing to do with the painkillers.

All of a sudden, the door behind them opened, and someone groaned, long and annoyed. “Why is it _always_ me? I should’ve known better than to close that door behind you.”

It was Clint. He stood in the doorway, also in his Avengers uniform, and cast them a long-suffering look. Then he took a step forward and made room for Sam, who wasn’t quite looking at them and instead started to awkwardly rub his neck.

“You’re lucky they’re still clothed,” Clint declared. “I once caught them with their pants down in the gym. If you haven’t seen their schlongs by the end of the year, you can call yourself one happy man.”

“Aw, come on,” Sam whined. “That’s not a picture I needed in my head.”

“A problem shared is a problem halved,” Clint drawled, then he and Sam moved for the exit. Clint only glanced back at them once, yelling over his shoulders, “Get Tony upstairs, Cap, would you? We gotta be moving soon, and the others are waiting for instructions.”

“What happened while I was out?” Tony asked, as he sat up with only the slightest wince. “You already talked to Fury?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. And suddenly, he was in control again. Just like that. No period of adjustment, no collecting himself. In a flash, Steve’s insecurity vanished and he was exactly as Tony knew him, a tower of strength, fortitude pouring off his body in waves.

It was easy to see that Steve tried hard to school his expression into something neutral. And that probably meant that Tony wasn’t gonna like whatever plan they’d come up with while he’d been unconscious.

“He wanted to salvage,” Steve continued. “I told him everything had to go. No deceits, and no middle grounds anymore.”

Tony blinked and ignored the pain that jabbed his side for no reason other than it was there and wanted to be remembered. He was staring at Steve with such intensity that he nearly forgot everything else. “You want to shut down SHIELD,” he said then, almost mindlessly. The words were there but they didn’t quite make sense, yet.

“Yes,” Steve confirmed and raised an eyebrow when Tony only stared off into space. “What?”

Tony opened his mouth to reply, then paused and frowned. There was nothing for several endless seconds, as he tried to sort through his thoughts. “I get it, I do,” he said eventually, choosing his words with great caution. He was a futurist, first and foremost. And above that, he knew the both of them well enough by now to sense a conflicting subject as soon as it came up.

“We won’t just be able to dissect how deep HYDRA’s infiltration rang,” Tony admitted. “I know that, _but_ … I’m not sure you’re fully aware of the consequences. SHIELD is the only organization with the right ways and means to ensure world safety on an international level.”

“Apart from us,” Steve said slowly.

Tony sighed. “Yeah, sure, apart from us. But we’re _six_ people, Steve, seven, if you count Wilson, and we’re not even sure he’s in it for the long run. Even if we step up and do more regular missions, we’ll never be able to cover what SHIELD did. This could get out of hand faster than you think.”

Steve frowned, looking down on his hands. “I’m not saying this will be easy. It won’t. But there’s really no alternative.”

A beat passed between them. “Not one we’ve thought up yet,” Tony added quietly, as Steve draped an arm around his upper body and helped him walk to the next room.

“Do me a favor and listen to my plan before you try to convince me to drop it, would you?” Steve asked, brushing a tender kiss across Tony’s forehead.

Tony sighed, and nodded anyway. “Sure. Lead the way.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was a horrible plan.

It was—by any means—the _most horrible plan_ Tony ever had to listen to in his entire life.

Infiltrating SHIELD at this point was basically a suicide mission. Missions of that magnitude took weeks of planning on a normal day, and that was _with_ SHIELD’s directive. And after the last days, Pierce had set SHIELD on higher alert. It would be even more dangerous than usual. And the fact that his little rendezvous with Barnes’ knife had cost them too much damn time, and that they barely had one and a half hours left before the launch would take place wasn’t exactly helping things either.

Tony leaned back in his chair, letting all of this sink in. He glanced up at Steve, waving his hand to encompass all the _horrible planning_ going on around here. “So you want to breach the carriers, and replace their targeting blades with our own.”

Steve nodded stoically and Tony could tell by the way Fury pursed his lips next to him that he was not happy with Steve’s plan either. He looked for all the world like Steve had taken him down a notch or two, and Tony was kind of glad that he hadn’t been there for that particular conversation.

“Once the carriers reach 3000 feet, they’ll triangulate with Insight satellites, becoming fully weaponized,” Bruce explained. “Then it’s a just a matter of seconds before they launch Project Insight.”

“And one or two blades won’t cut it,” Maria said, leaning forward.

Tony pinched his nose, realizing immediately where all of this was going. “So we have to link all three carriers for this to work. Three carriers, three people to replace the blades.”

Steve nodded. “Exactly. I’ll take the South carrier myself, Thor and Clint will take of the other two together.”

Tony took a deep breath, held it, and exhaled. Of course Steve would want to go in alone—the reason was pretty fucking obvious. And the South carrier was closest to the Triskelion, which also meant he’d face the worst opposition. “I don’t mean to put a damper on anything,” Tony said slowly, glancing up at Steve. “But are you aware that everyone aboard those carriers could be HYDRA?”

“I know,” Steve said. There was no attempt at deception in his tone; he knew exactly what he was doing, what he was risking. But he was brutally determined.

Well, this was going to be fun, Tony decided. All in all, he and Steve hadn’t had a real argument with each other since their wedding and this was probably long overdue.

Tony shook his head, trying to hold onto some measure of calmness, even as he felt the irritation within him rise. “You’re going to get yourself killed. Deliberately.”

“I’m not,” Steve said with a soft tone. “We have to stop the launch. This simply is our best bet.”

At that, Tony stood up. There was still a spark of pain shooting through his body, but it was manageable. He walked forward heatedly, pushing a finger against Steve’s chest. “You’re not invincible.”

“I know, Tony, I just—”

“Oh, I’m aware that you _just_ want to go in there by yourself so you can try to pull this memory bullshit with Barnes again. Don’t insult my intelligence. But you know what? This isn’t the time, or the place. He’s going to rip you apart, limb from limb, and piss on what’s left over.”

Clint winced. “Let’s not get crude or anything.”

“Maybe crudeness is the only way to get him to realize that he’s being. A. Fucking. Idiot.”

Steve stepped forward, doing that thing with his shoulders that made him five inches larger. “Diving in head-first without a plan is still better than only reacting when it's too late.”

“There’s this little thing called learning from your mistakes. Since you obviously haven’t taken that step yet, I’m going to have to take it for you: You’re not going without me.”

Steve stopped in his tracks, looking up sharply. “I won’t let you navigate Iron Man with ruptures, and you’re still on painkillers.”

“Oh, really? Imagine how much I care about that right now. I’m not gonna let him kill you while you’re waving the white flag around.”

Steve sighed heavily. “Tony.”

“ _No_ ,” he yelled. “If you leave, you better be sure I’ll be following.”

A cold, callous breeze filtered through the air. Steve matched his gaze with such intensity that Tony didn’t know if he wanted to hit him, scream at him, kiss him, or rip his head off. It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d felt this way and he guessed it wouldn’t be the last.

“I have to try,” Steve said, palming Tony’s cheek with warm hands. God, he really _hated_ when Steve looked at him like this. Like Tony couldn’t _possibly_ tell him not risk his life when it was obviously for the greater good.

Why again had he thought it was a good idea to marry the biggest martyr of American history?

“Please don’t make me stop trying,” Steve said, confirming every single thought running through Tony’s head. “If you… I won’t risk bringing you in danger, you _know_ that. But, you have to understand that this is the only way… _please_.”

“What?” Tony asked, voice breaking, suddenly overwhelmed by his own emotions. He was aware that the others were staring at them uncomfortably, but there wasn’t anything to be done about that. “‘Please Tony, let me give my life for this guy?’ Is that what you want my blessing for?”

Steve shook his head heatedly. “I want you to trust me that I’ll do everything in my power not to let that happen.”

“Will you? Do everything?”

No hesitation. Steve nodded. “Yes.”

Tony sighed, shaking his head. “This isn’t the only option. I know I said I couldn’t shut down Zola’s algorithm, but Bruce and I… we might still make it before the launch, I just—”

“I know it’s not our only option,” Steve said calmly. “Or… maybe it is. Maybe we lost too much time and all the other options are gone. Point is, it’s the only one we’ve got right now. We don’t have time to sit around and wait for something else to spring to mind.” A soft beat, and Steve leaned down, pressing their foreheads together. They usually tried to tone down the PDA whenever the others were around, but desperate times and all that… His hands grasped Tony’s as his thumbs ran comforting circles into his skin.

“It’s dumb,” Tony whispered, staring up into Steve’s blue eyes. “It’s so fucking dumb.”

“It’ll be alright, I promise.”

An inarticulate snort. “You really can’t know that.”

“Well, you know how stubborn I can be. When I put my mind to something, I don’t rest until I see it through.”

“You’re right about _that_.” Tony leaned back, straightening. “I’ll have full access to everyone’s comms and vitals, at all times. JARVIS and I will operate the Iron Legion from afar, and if things go wrong, you’ll tell me right away, and you’ll allow me to get you out of there,” he said.

A smile and a nod for agreement. “Sounds like a plan.”

Yeah. A plan.

Seemed to be a lot of those going around. He would have to let Steve do this, of course. He had to. He had no place intervening. Steve was determined. That much was indisputable.

He just hoped he knew what he was doing.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was a silent walk back to the van that would bring the others right to the Triskelion. Natasha and Fury would head straight for Pierce’s conference with the WSC, while Steve would make his way to the first targeting console. Thor and Clint had already left the safe house half an hour ago, trying to take out the Northern carrier before it even took off, while Maria, Bruce and Tony would watch the perimeter from afar, trying to stop the launch in time. They all knew that chances for that to happen were close to zero, but they had to try.

Sam stayed with Tony for the time being, letting him have a last look at his wings, before teaming up with the others later. His main job was to distract the Helicarriers’ Phalanx guns on deck and, well… not get killed in the process.

It all worked beautifully in theory. Steve’s plans always did.

As Tony and Steve walked side by side, Tony’s mind was racing. How had they gotten to this point? Why had all those events that had seemed so singular at the time led to him and Steve being separated once more while the world was set on fire all around them?

He had no answers.

_Status?_ Tony asked.

_Mark nine through forty-one in battle-stance, sir_ , JARVIS replied. _Position acquired and awaiting instructions. We are ready._

Tony nodded briskly. _Damn right we are._ With the whole team around, and Tony piloting the Iron Legion from afar, HYDRA wouldn’t even know what hit them. Logically, this should be a piece of cake.

The only unpredictable element was Steve’s loyalty to his best friend.

“You know I need to do this,” Steve said quietly, searching his gaze. “If it was Rhodey…”

“Don’t,” Tony said shortly. “Don’t project this on me. For me, you always come first.”

Steve stopped, grabbing for his shoulders. “You come first. _Always_. Without a doubt,” he declared vehemently. Tony’s eyes were drawn to him by the sincerity in his low voice and he found he could not look away. “I missed my chance… before. And I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again… after this. I know he’s still in there, Tony. I owe him another try. You _told_ me to keep trying.”

“And you called yourself reckless and impulsive. How is this any different from what happened on the bridge? When I said to keep trying I meant to come up with a plan, to actually think it through, have a strategy at hand, and not to dive into the next catastrophe head first.” He sighed. “When have we switched places? When did I become the reasonable part in this relationship?”

Steve smiled weakly. “Someone’s gotta.”

Tony bit his lower lip, staring at the van in front of them. “You sure you don’t need Bruce as backup?”

Steve nodded. “If there’s any chance you both can still stop the launch, you should take it. Besides… at this point we don’t even know who’s who, and I don’t want Hulk near SHIELD… if he killed someone who wasn’t HYDRA… I don’t want him to go through that again.”

Tony took a fortifying deep breath, willing the next words out of his mouth, “You need to look at the plans of the Helicarrier again? I’m sure they’ll send Barnes right to Commando Bridge.”

“Tony, come on…” Steve started, but Tony interrupted him.

“I get it, okay? Let’s just… do you need to look at the damned plans again?”

Steve swallowed. Shook his head. “I know my way.”

Of course he did. Steve always memorized plans with an ease Tony admired. It didn’t make him feel any better. “Good,” he said with a forced smile. “Then walk me through it.”

Steve sighed, rolling his shoulders back, as he rattled off, “I’ll make my way North the same way as usual, crossing under the river using the old sewer tunnel. From the exit at Curtis Memorial, it’s a five-minute walk up to the outer elevators. Two if I run. There’s a lift on the west side of the south carrier I can use without setting off the alarms. It’s also far enough away from the main gate to avoid the guards. Then it’s three minutes across the upper level. As soon as I’m up, you and JARVIS will have my back.”

Steve ticked each objective off on his fingers as he went. “The way to the bridge is unguarded, but to be absolutely sure I’ll approach from the south side, where there aren’t any outfacing lights. I’ll scale to the third floor from the east wing to avoid the agents’ dormitories. To get inside, you’ll open the lock. The area itself shouldn’t have any security alarms… but I guess I’ll find out about that.”

“Don’t joke about this.”

Steve’s smile faltered. “I didn’t mean to—Sorry.”

He watched Steve warily, before rising up on his toes and pressing his lips against Steve’s. Fuck it, he couldn’t let Steve go while they were fighting. It didn’t matter that he was angry now—Steve’s head needed to be clear and they could still argue about this afterwards. At the first touch of their lips Steve sank into him, one arm wrapping tightly around Tony’s waist as Steve’s other hand touched his neck, holding him close.

They parted and Tony breathed Steve’s name, drawing his eyes to him. He stilled a little at that, battling back the multitude of ‘I love you’s that fought his mouth and will for release. Fought the urge in his arms to take Steve into a desperate embrace and beg him to stay out of this. Instead, he traced a finger over Steve’s jaw, his neck—unable to stop touching. “Be careful. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You won’t have to find out,” Steve said, moving even closer. “I promise.”

Tony reached out to touch Steve’s chest, feeling his heart beating strongly against his palm—desperate for that last connection. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Tony swallowed hard and gathered himself. If he wavered, he would collapse with Steve still around him, and never let him go.

And he _had_ to let him go.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was a miracle that Tony could navigate himself anywhere under these circumstances; much less to the safe house’s observation room where they’d be supervising the fight from afar.

Once Steve arrived at the Triskelion, Extremis live-streamed his speech to all SHIELD communication systems. The moment his voice echoed over every single speaker in the room, Tony was just finishing up the last upgrades on Sam’s left wing. JARVIS had analyzed all the smaller weaknesses that could be repaired on such a short notice, and Tony had set to work.

_Attention, all SHIELD agents. This is Steve Rogers. You heard a lot about me in the last few days. Some of you were even ordered to haunt me down. But I think it’s time you know the truth …_

A heavy pause. Tony could almost picture Steve’s jaw twitching with a firm surge of determination.

Next to him, Bruce was semi-aggressively typing away on the notebook in front of him. Tony didn’t have to look, exactly; he knew via Extremis that he wasn’t having any luck with hijacking the source code. Apparently, he’d been trying to find a loophole in Project Insight’s algorithm for hours now, and Tony himself had been running a tracer since Camp Lehigh… In the end, though, Tony simply had to admit that Zola had done an impressive job, spending decades on decades to make the whole thing practically impenetrable.

He and Bruce both knew they were running out of time… and there was nothing they could do about it. It had been a losing game from the start, simple as that.

_SHIELD is not what we thought it was_ , Steve continued. _It’s been taken over by HYDRA. Alexander Pierce is their leader. STRIKE and Insight crew are HYDRA as well. I don’t know how many more, But I know they’re in the building. They could be standing right next to you._

_They almost have what they want: absolute control. They shot Nick Fury and it won’t end there. If you launch those Helicarriers today, HYDRA will be able to kill anyone that stands in their way._

_Unless we stop them._

Tony couldn’t hold back the fond smile that rose to his lips. He tried hard to ignore how those words affected him just because it was Steve voicing them. He didn’t want to give Steve that. He desperately needed to remain angry with him, because… if he was angry, the worry couldn’t consume him whole.

_I know I’m asking a lot, but… the price of freedom is high, always has been. And it’s a price I’m willing to pay._

_And if I’m the only one, so be it. But I’m willing to bet I’m not._

Next to him, Sam huffed in amusement. “Does he write these things down first, or is it just off the top of his head?”

Tony smiled, putting a hand on Sam’s shoulder in understanding. “Trust me, Steve could read you the phone book and it’d have some motivational ring to it. It’s… it’s the whole milk and all that fresh air. At least, that’s my guess… which is as good as any.”

He sat the wings down on Sam’s shoulders, clipping the harness in place. Then he looked down at a small emitter, pushing it back into the frame of Sam’s right wing. The power storage cell gave off a low hum at that, the articulation joints on both wings moving back and forth in a test motion. “Looks good,” Tony said, checking every seam twice. “I’m gonna do a proper once-over when we’ll get back to New York. It’ll work much smoother with a vibranium alloy and a little repulsor power.”

Bruce snorted, glancing at Sam. “That’s his solution for everything.”

“Uh-uh,” Sam only said unintelligibly.

Tony smirked. “What I’m saying is: You’re good to go, _Falcon_. Go kick some HYDRA ass.” With that, he leaned back and, on a second thought, grabbed for one of the black markers on the desk. He opened the cap with his teeth, then crossed the ‘EXO-7’ on Sam’s right wing, writing an EXO-8 next to it. “Next generation model,” he explained, clicking the pen shut.

Bruce turned around in his swivel chair, casting Sam a comically serious look. “Keeping things in working order.”

“Whatever you say,” Sam said, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You guys are the geniuses.”

Tony pursed his lips. “Great. Look out for my husband, would you?”

Sam grinned. “Pretty sure it’s gonna be the other way around but, sure, I’ll have an eye on him.” With that, he gave Tony a final nod, then made his way to the exit that’d lead him to the patio.

Tony watched as Sam spread his wings then took off into the clear sky like he had been doing that every single day of his life. And he tried not to let it show how much it ripped him apart not to step into the next suit and follow him into battle.

The years had taught him many things—namely to trust his senses, and seeing Steve leave without him? It just felt wrong on so many levels.

“They’ll be okay,” Bruce said next to him. He heaved a great breath, and the typing stopped. “This isn’t working. If we had more time…”

“I know,” Tony said quietly and logged into SHIELD’s security cameras. He could see the muted bridge lights of the three Helicarriers, and the park gleaming underneath them. Watching them slowly ascend into the air was an impressive view even under these circumstances. He leaned his head on the window, letting his breath fog the glass. The lights outside almost disappeared and he brought up his hand to wipe away the condensation. “Gotta take the birds down, then. Bye, bye, babies…”

Bruce stepped up next to them. “This is gonna change everything. Is Steve aware of that?”

“Not in the long run, I don’t think so. He sees what needs to be done now, everything else is secondary.” He sighed, glancing up at Bruce. “If SHIELD drops, we can’t be acting as disaster response any longer. We need to step up, take charge of things, bring together what’s left of SHIELD… and take responsibility for what happens today. Government will ask for a handler, someone they can shove the blame at so they don’t lose face.”

“And that has to be you?” Bruce said with a raised brow.

“What,” Tony countered with a soft, resigned voice. “You volunteering?”

Bruce’s shoulders tensed slightly, his fingers twitching next to him.

Tony smiled. “I wasn’t actually serious, Brucie. I know how these things work, I’ve been raised to dance that dance, ‘course it’s gonna be me. Hill will probably be on board, Phil, too, if he’s got the time to spare with his little agent-gang. Can’t be sure about Fury, he’ll probably disappear for a while, lick his wounds in quiet. We’ll see.”

Tony closed his eyes, concentrating on the battle once more. Navigating the Iron Legion didn’t take much of Tony’s attention, these days. JARVIS was doing all of the actual calculations, deciding how and where to attack. Only when it came to thinking outside of the box, making some not-all-that-logical decision, it was Tony’s turn to take control. Together, they were piloting around thirty suits simultaneously and by now, they worked like a well-oiled machine, precise, intuitive, trusting each other implicitly to make the right calls at the right time.

Right now, Tony was directing Mark Forty-One through the sky, flanking Thor’s side as he and Clint made their way to the second carrier. At some point, Tony had watched Steve running around the deck of the Southern carrier, but as soon as it had taken off, he’d disappeared into one the lower decks.

And—God, Tony was angry. Angry that he wasn’t allowed to follow him, angry with James fucking Barnes, angry with Steve, angry with himself. Even when Obadiah had tried to murder him, he did not recall being blinded with anger as much as fueled with it. Now was an entirely different matter. The rawness of his frustration was nothing compared to the intensity of it.

Next to him, Maria stepped into the room. She laid a hand on her left ear, listening to the comm-line. “Barton placed the first blade,” she told them quietly. “They’re initiating launch.”

Tony nodded. His eyes went black, as he linked back into JARVIS’ system. _Assign Thirty-One to Steve’s side. Don’t let him shake you off._

_Experience shows that this is easier said than done, sir. It seems he is making detours in order to stay off of my grid._

Tony sighed. “What the fuck are you doing, Steve?” he snapped into the open comm.

When no answer came, the cold seeped through the glass and into Tony’s bones. He flexed his back as best as he could with the bandages holding it in position. It still hurt, his insides were still tender, but he knew, if it came down to it, he’d step into the suit and damn it all to hell if only it meant that Steve would return home safely.

Tony focused on Extremis, setting a timer to every comm-line available. _Eight minutes, Avengers._ “Steve, copy now, or I swear to God—”

Steve’s voice was heavy with strain, which didn’t make Tony feel any better. “I’m nearing the console. Tell JARVIS to get off my back, Tony, we talked about this.”

Tony flexed both hands, while he logged into a different suit which was circling the carrier’s front, and took out most of the cannons and guns in one go. He flew sideways, taking a look into the carrier’s glass dome. It wasn’t overly hard to locate Steve’s form on the bridge above, what with his bullseye target right on his back. It did take him a moment to zoom in on Barnes, though, standing only a few feet away from Steve and staring him down with a cold expression. And Tony could’ve swept into the commando area in no time, but he knew what Steve had asked of him, knew he wanted that try… and for the time being, he would have to stay away.

_Track their movements but don’t intervene_ , he told JARVIS. _Have all Velocity suits on high alert._

_Very well, sir._

Most of the Iron Legion was still circulating around the carriers and with Thor and Sam being in the air with them, they were keeping the carrier’s weapons out of commission with ease.

Tony sighed, linking back in the comm. _Charlie Carrier’s 45 degrees off the port bow. Four minutes._

_Steve, talk to me._

A pause. Then a grunt. _Got it under control. I…_ Steve groaned in pain, and there was the screeching sound of some knife making contact with the shield.

With that, Tony got up, padding through the nearly empty room, unnerved by the lack of clear instructions from Steve’s side. His vitals indicated that one of Barnes’ knife had already cut Steve right across his chest and Tony… he was rapidly nearing his breaking point—his nerves had been frayed from the start, and his worry for Steve clouded his judgment. He knew he should trust Steve to know his limits, knew he needed to trust that Steve would let it drop before Barnes could kill him, but still.

Steve was too loyal for his own good. He always had been.

Fear gripped him; insidious, chilly tendrils curling up and wrapping around his stomach, creeping upwards toward his heart. If Barnes hurt Steve—or worse, if something happened to Steve because Tony hadn’t been at his side, he’d never forgive himself.

“Tony,” Bruce ventured cautiously, as the Iron Man suit bled all over Tony’s body. It hadn’t even been a conscious decision. And yet, within seconds, it had encased him in metal. It cut into the splints around his torso, rendering them useless. A dull pain rolled across his abdomen, but Tony didn’t even flinch.

It didn’t matter. None of this did. What mattered was that he couldn’t let Steve die for Barnes.

And he wouldn’t.


	6. Anything But This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys :) I will be on holidays for about two weeks now, so there won't be any updates in that time, but chap 7 is almost finished so I hope I'll be able to post soon after. I'm a bit nervous about this chap since a lot of people had very distinctive (and very different) ideas of how the 'big fight' would play out with all of the Avengers involved and yeah ... I spent a long time thinking this over and I hope I'm not disappointing anyone ;) After this chap, we'll be in post-movie territory, but there will be a few more chaps, probably around 11 in total. Hope you enjoy this!

**Steve**

 

 

Steve made a quick scan of the perimeter, but the area leading to the data storage appeared to be empty. Save, of course, for the two Iron Legion suits circling the Helicarrier’s glass dome.

 _Eight minutes, Avengers_ , Tony’s voice echoed over the comm line. And, then, over their private channel, “Steve, copy now, or I swear to God—”

Steve sighed as he made his way towards the Commando Bridge. “I’m nearing the console. Tell JARVIS to get off my back, Tony, we talked about this.”

Sam’s voice resounded in his ear-piece. “Cap? Cap, come in. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” Steve said. “I’m still on South carrier. Where are you?”

“Keeping the turrets busy. Won’t make it to our checkpoint. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry, I got this. Thor?”

“Hawkeye and I have reached the barracks, Captain,” Thor announced. “The second blade has been placed.”

“Good. Keep them busy until Fury and Nat ensure control over the Triskelion.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Steve’s long strides came to a screeching halt as Bucky appeared out of nowhere. The mask was gone now, exposing an empty face with even emptier eyes. They were simply blank, as if someone had pulled out a plug and all the color, and everything that had made Bucky who he was, had swirled down through a hole inside him.

The sight had Steve stopping in his tracks. He gulped, watching Bucky’s metal hand tighten and his nostrils flare.

“People are gonna die, Buck,” Steve said very slowly. “I can’t let that happen.”

There was nothing. Bucky didn’t even blink.

He’d known it wouldn’t be easy, even if he hadn’t wanted to consider that Bucky might not remember him at all. Seeing him again without the mask was the best and worst of all things. He’d known it was a possibility that Bucky would fight him to the end, feared its reality and hoped Bucky would have the strength to shatter the monstrosity of his own hell. But how could he, after waiting decades for rescue that hadn’t come? How could he or anyone expect him to remember anything when, in his world, he’d been alone and waiting longer than he or anyone could imagine?

They hadn’t left him any memories of his old life. They’d wiped him. Over and over again. Chances were he didn’t even know he’d had a life before this one. He might have pieced it together over time, but there was no way he would have understood it. After everything he’d done—after dying for his country—the world had repaid him by sealing him in an existence where he could not die, in a world of despair and isolation, where he was utterly alone.

He should have seen this coming. Like Natasha had tried to make him understand, he should have predicted the possibility that Bucky wouldn’t recognize him at all.

On the street, there had been a flicker of recognition. But now it was gone, and a part of him had known they would’ve wiped him again before sending him out to fight Steve. There was no reason for him to remember, especially after waiting so long for a savior that never came.

Steve swallowed hard. He had to keep a level head. “Please, don’t make me do this.”

There was no reaction. There was nothing at all. Bucky was blocking the way to the targeting console—and time was running out on him.

He threw his shield the next instant, and Bucky plunged into battle without any preliminaries. The moment Steve was within range, he spun like a dervish and thrust out his knives, nearly slicing through Steve’s throat in the process. But Steve was quicker, and ducked to the side, throwing a punch at Bucky’s side. The blow left Bucky slightly—and very briefly—off balance, and Steve took quick advantage of that fact, throwing an uppercut before he had even straightened up, knocking Bucky off his feet.

Bucky rolled as if he had intended to do it, and was back on his feet quickly. Steve had barely enough time to turn around and hammer the code Tony’d given him into the console, opening the cabinet.

When Bucky came at him again, Steve backhanded him with so much force that he spun a full 180 degrees before he could right himself. Bucky whirled a circle around him, and came out in front with another knife extended. They both paused as if to consider the situation—Bucky standing on the edge of the bridge like an acrobat, Steve wide-legged and braced for a blow. An impressive leap on Bucky’s part, and Steve staggered backward with a blade between his eyes, his hands keeping it away just an inch from his forehead. The metal hand holding the knife shook with the strain, servos whirling, but Steve was stronger. He pushed forward, though Bucky had already drawn back again and struck, this time managing to slash the left side of his upper body. A trickle of blood streamed down, burning and momentarily making Steve stagger backwards. But the pain and adrenaline forced him to shake it off instantly.

 _Charlie Carrier’s 45 degrees off the port bow. Four minutes,_ Tony announced, then—more urgent, _Steve, talk to me._

Steve heaved a strained breath. “Got it under control. I…”Steve couldn’t hold back the little groan of pain as Bucky’s knife sliced through the air, forcing him to move. Steve jumped, tucking up his legs just in time to avoid being struck again.

Bucky’s first real error was one of timing. He took a stab at Steve when he was already moving away, and his knife got stuck in the handrail next to them. The sharp blade sank deep between the metal bars, and before he could pry it loose, Steve had pushed him away.

As if to punish him for his insolence, Bucky placed a well-timed kick to the side of his head and sent him reeling. He shook off the blow as if it were nothing, however, and managed to get Bucky into a strangle hold for just a second.

In that second, he reached behind himself and pulled out one of the data chips, just in time before Bucky grabbed for him and pulled him over the railing.

Steve bit back a curse as his fingers slipped on the bridge’s ledge. One hand lost its grip and swung free, his body smacking against the pillar. He was still three floors up. He only barely managed to cling on for a second, before his hand slipped and he fell. In front of him, the pillar rushed down in a hard, shining waterfall of polished white.

Landing on his feet, Steve quickly raced to where the chip had fallen. As soon as he got his fingers around the device, though, Bucky shot at him and Steve barely had the time to raise his shield to block the bullet.

The next punches Bucky dished out on him were more forceful and when he grabbed for just another knife, slashing down at him, Steve couldn’t put enough counter pressure on the metal arm before the blade embedded itself right into his upper chest.

Steve groaned with the pain, smashing his head at Bucky to get away from him. Bucky had a hold on his arm though, and threw him right into the next wall.

When Steve looked up, he saw two suits of the Iron Legion rushing for Bucky.

“Stay back!” Steve yelled. “JARVIS. Stay back! That’s an order!”

There was a minute’s consideration, visible in the way the suits slowed down, but didn’t stop right away.

 _Do as he says_ , Tony’s voice resounded in Steve’s earpiece, and the suits came to a halt right above Bucky’s form.

_One more wrong move from him, Steve, and that’s it._

Bucky, obviously not at all impressed with their new bystanders, grabbed for the data chip and rushed past him. Steve barely managed to get Bucky’s human arm into a stranglehold, shaking him back and forth. “Drop it,” he told him, panting, hurting in more ways than one. He yelled again, “Drop it!”

Bucky just grunted, clearly not wanting to listen to Steve. He tried to lash out at him, but it was no use. Steve pulled at his arm—and dislocated his shoulder.

Bucky screamed. And the fact that he still didn’t let go, stubbornly holding the chip in his trembling hand, was just one more proof that Bucky was still in there. Somewhere.

It also made this ten times harder.

Steve let himself drop down on his back, pulling Bucky with him and changing his hold so he could choke him in earnest. The second he lost consciousness, Steve let go, grabbed for the chip and ran.

He needed to climb upwards and when he reached the upper level, Bucky was back on his feet, aiming his gun at him.

Bucky’d always been one hell of a shooter.

The pain that jolted through him as the bullet pierced his left arm was excruciating. There was a second and a third shot, but one of the suits rushed for Steve and blocked them both.

Steve had barely any time to glance over his shoulder, before Bucky was taking down the suit with nothing more than a few well-aimed punches with his metal arm. He was ramming his fist right into the chest-plate, and while he couldn’t get to the suit’s reactor, he was still inflicting too much damage for the suit to stay functional.

There was some electric buzzing, and then the suit went limp.

“30 seconds, Cap,” Hill said over the comm.

Steve let himself slump forward over the railing, needing just a second. “Stand by.”

Fumbling out the chip, he pushed it forward and—there was another shot, piercing through Steve’s other arm. He groaned mutely, exhaustion almost blocking the pain, and watched as Bucky came rushing towards him. The second Iron Legion suit blocked his path though, taking up the fight for now.

Cold seeped through Steve and then he couldn’t hold himself upright anymore. He couldn’t stand. He just fell down on the ground, leaning against the open cabinet.

A shaky breath left him. “Tony…”

“I know,” Tony said, not using Extremis for once, and Steve was glad. Because if this was it, he needed to hear his real voice. “ETA two. Please hold on.”

ETA two? Steve closed his eyes, wanting to laugh and cry at the same time. _Of course_ Tony would end up coming for him, after all. With a swallow, he shoved the chip over his shoulder and into the empty slot. Steve’s heart hammered. A tight, anxious feeling wound its way up his chest as he worried, like he did every time, that this wasn’t going to work, before—exhale, relief—there was the softest of clicks and the lock released.

“10 seconds.”

“Charlie lock,” he pressed through his teeth. “Fire now.”

Hill gasped softly. “But Steve…”

“You’ll wait,” Tony yelled over the com, his voice all authority. “Maria, don’t you dare push that button. Just let me _get there_ first.”

“Tony…” Steve breathed out. And he knew, it all lay in Tony’s hands now. Extremis had given him that power. It was power in its purest form. He could easily let Project Insight do what it had set out to do; he could let it kill all those people, if it only meant to save Steve. He could doom the whole world with so much as a simple thought, if it meant Steve would live.

Order. Chaos. Destruction. Victory. Defeat. Those were all things Tony controlled now. And while that had worried Steve at first, he knew… Tony was good to the core. He cared about people more than he cared about himself.

The only thing he cared more about was Steve.

And still. Steve trusted him to do what was right. And this time, he figured, whatever was needed to save the world had to be it.

Steve took a deep breath, and with a voice that was far calmer than he felt, he said, “We talked about this, Tony. Never this. _Anything_ but this.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

_6 months earlier_

 

They were dancing. Slow and meaningful among a hundred faces Steve couldn’t care less about in this moment. They were dancing. He held Tony close and couldn’t take a breath without inhaling his scent. Couldn’t move but for the feel of him. Dancing was something he’d never gotten to do. A representation of something he had always admired but never knew how it would feel. It could mean so many things in one glorious step. They danced well together. Even in this, Tony was his equal. There was no one who came before him, and no one who could ever take his place.

Tonight had been the picture of a perfect wedding. He knew Tony had wanted to make it as special for him as possible. Billie Holiday was humming out the lyrics to “I’m Yours”. It had been Steve’s only wish for the playlist, and it might be a bit cliché. However, the second he’d listened to the song back in the 40s, it had stuck a chord within him, and he remembered thinking: ‘If I ever get to have a wedding, this is what I’ll be dancing to’. And now that he swayed with Tony from side to side, he could live with being a bit of a cliché as long as it meant he got to have this moment.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you.” Steve pulled back, eyes shimmering with glee. “I got a little surprise for you later.”

Tony raised an eyebrow, smile firmly in place. Steve couldn’t remember seeing him do anything but smile the entire evening, and he probably wasn’t faring any better. “Did you tie a red ribbon around your dick? Because, I gotta tell you, my plans for tonight are kinda single-minded.”

A shiver raced through Steve, and he cuddled more provocatively into Tony. “Not exactly. But I think you might like it anyway.” He ducked his head conspiratorially, murmuring against Tony’s ear, “It’s a thank you. For everything.”

Tony’s eyes lit up and he ran his tongue over his teeth with casual seduction. “If I remember correctly,” he said, head dipping to nuzzle his throat. “You thanked me plenty just half an hour ago.”

A flush colored Steve’s ivory skin. “You think we were too obvious?”

“Nah,” Tony said. “The conservatory is deserted today, anyway.”

“Still, I should go back to clean up.”

Tony bit his lip to smother a laugh. “This is our _wedding_. For once, let someone else clean up the mess.”

“That someone else will happen to be Ernesto, our sixty-eight year old gardener.”

Tony nudged his forehead with Steve’s before dipping to brush his lips against the nape of his throat. Steve shuddered when Tony took his pulse point between his lips.

“Have I told you yet how ravishing you look tonight?” Tony asked, one of his thumbs moving over Steve’s palm.

Steve smiled. “About six or seven times.”

“Just six or seven? I’m clearly lagging.”

Steve’s smile grew. “Thank you for tonight. I know you didn’t really care that much about the ceremony.”

Tony shrugged. “If it’s important to you, it’s important to me.”

Steve arched a brow, coiling his hands in the lapels of Tony’s tux, pulling him nearer. “Aren’t you a textbook spouse.”

By suggestion alone, Tony’s expression collapsed into a frown. “Take that back,” he demanded.

“Nope. Don’t think I’ll be doing that.”

“Don’t make me leave you hanging tonight.”

Steve smirked. “You wouldn’t.”

A sigh. “No, I wouldn’t,” Tony said, pressed up against Steve and… well. There surely wasn’t anything _hanging_ right now.

Steve bit his lower lip to suppress a chuckle. “How about we get out of here?”

Tony frowned, looking down at himself as if chiding himself for getting an erection now. He stepped a bit closer to Steve, either to hide or rub it more firmly against Steve, it was hard to decide. “It’s still early,” Tony said. “And it’s your big night.”

“I’ve had my big night. I’m ready for my big something else.” To emphasize his point, he pressed his palm against the bulge through Tony’s slacks, smiling his satisfaction when Tony moaned in return and thrust slightly against him.

“ _Fuck_ , all right, all right,” Tony breathed and—ever so casually—moved his hips backwards. “Jesus, when did you get so shameless? Just give me a minute. Or two. We need to at least say goodbye before we blow this joint and I probably shouldn’t do that with a boner.”

Five minutes and some very endearing deep breaths on Tony’s part later, they said their goodbyes and made their way through the crowd. And within two seconds of getting in the elevator, Tony’s mouth tore at his—both hands fighting his clothing and chucking his tie and dress jacket to the floor without any niceties. Steve moaned into him, guiding him blindly in a clumsy haze for the wall and fending off his attack with one of his own.

“Mmm,” Tony gasped, throwing his head back as Steve’s lips skated down his throat.

“Want you naked,” Steve murmured, his hands fisting the material of Tony’s dress shirt to pull him nearer.

Tony groaned. “Don’t tear it.”

Steve hesitated slightly. “Wasn’t gonna.”

“That was a joke, Steve, come on.” Tony pulled back just enough to catch Steve’s eyes before he ripped his own dress shirt down the middle, buttons flying in every direction. “There you go.”

Steve chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re crazy.”

“Yeah, and you’re married to that.”

Steve’s smile broadened. “I am.”

How Steve ever managed to get Tony out of his tux without rendering it useless, he didn’t know. It was a fast, fumbling job—while Tony was busy peppering Steve’s neck with love bites that would fade within minutes. By the end of it, Tony was buck-naked as they were tumbling into the penthouse.

“Sirs,” JARVIS chimed in as they made their way through the living room. “May I give my sincerest congratulations?”

Tony snorted against Steve’s chest, pulling him firmly towards their bedroom. “On the upcoming sex or the marriage?”

JARVIS’ answer came promptly. “Both, of course, sir,” he said with an almost-exasperated tone.

Steve smiled against the crown of Tony’s dark hair. “Thanks, bud. Redirect all calls till tomorrow, please?”

“Certainly, Steve.”

Tony mock-drawled _Steve_ against Steve’s skin, and earned a little slap on the back of the head for it.

“Shut it, it’s very sweet,” Steve said.

“So bossy,” Tony quipped, chuckling. “Have you always been this bossy, or is that new? I think I’m having second-thoughts on this whole marriage thing already.”

Steve leaned down to kiss Tony’s forehead. “That’s okay. You would only get a divorce and love me anyway.”

Tony smiled—a huge, lovestruck smile that he would probably deny until his dying day. “True.”

“You looked so good in that tux,” Steve said. “But I like you better out of it,” he decided, head dipping to suck at Tony’s left nipple.

There was a sharp intake of breath as Tony’s hand was suddenly dipping into Steve’s pants, diving right between his legs. “Are you serious?” Tony gasped against his skin, the hitch clear in his voice. “You know, if you’d told me you were going commando tonight, we never would’ve made it to the altar.”

“That’s why I didn't tell you.”

“Good thinking.” Tony’s thumb found the slit, and he smiled as Steve bucked against him. “Can’t believe you finally decided to listen to me on our _wedding day_ , you scoundrel.” He pulled firmly at Steve’s hand, trying to pull him the last inches to the bedroom door.

“Oh, hey, wait,” Steve said, and pulled both arms around Tony’s shoulder, stopping him, before softly pressing his palms over Tony’s eyes. “Got a surprise, remember?”

“And I need to close my eyes for that, because…”

“…you love me and I’m asking you to,” Steve said with a low chuckle and then made Tony take small steps into the room.

“This is hopelessly cliché, I hope you’re aware.”

Steve leaned forward, smiling against Tony’s cheek. “I think I’m allowed, today. You can count yourself lucky that I’m not carrying you over the threshold.”

Tony snorted. “I want bonus points for not having Extremis peek via camera. I’m expecting a reward, and when I say ‘reward’ I’m talking naughty things, Steven.”

“Noted.”

“Did you install a sex swing? Or is this the moment you’re telling me you’re awfully into threesomes? ‘Cause I suddenly feel like we should’ve had that talk before making with the whole ‘til death-part’, you know?”

Steve snorted. “No to both. Sorry.”

“Did you get me a boy toy for the weekdays? Have someone fulfill my needs while you’re in DC? That’s so considerate.”

“Another no,” he said firmly. “That, you’re gonna have to take care of yourself. Just another step and… all right. You can open your eyes, now.”

“So you’re saying there’s no other charmingly handsome man waiting for me? That’s a bit of a bummer.”

Steve sighed, rolling his eyes. “Tony.”

“All right, all right…”

Tony cast him a lopsided grin, before he opened his eyes. For a moment, there was nothing. His gaze was blank. Then he blinked and breathed, clearly a little overwhelmed, “Oh, baby.”

Steve released a little relieved breath. “You like it?”

“I can’t believe you managed to do this behind my back…”

Steve shrugged. “You spend enough time in the shop, and JARVIS tracked your whereabouts when I worked on it.”

“Sneaky, Rogers, sneaky.”

“Stark-Rogers,” Steve corrected.

“ _Ah_ , come on—don’t say that,” Tony said on a fake whine. “Everyone thinks we kept our names, remember?”

“Yeah, but we’re alone now, so I’ll call you Stark-Rogers as much as I like.”

Tony rolled his eyes at him, before he walked further into the room. He approached the opposite wall almost reverently, and Steve felt a little thrill run through him as Tony squatted down and reached out to softly touch the canvas.

The painting was almost life-size. The scene showed Tony—bare-footed, sporting his usual battered tank top and some black sweatpants. Steve had drawn him at an angle, but with his head turned to face the viewer. His head was propped on DUM-E’s claw; chin tilted down, eyes glassy. He looked a bit overwhelmed with the current situation, a little lost in his own thoughts. He looked beautiful and hopeful, but also so, so vulnerable, just as Steve had remembered him.

There was the tiniest smile playing with his lips as he looked up to the second figure in the painting—a man who was covered in shadow. He stood over Tony, apparently unseen, his posture a little hunched, as if he was slowly leaning down, one arm reaching towards Tony. His fingers were only inches from his cheek.

“Is that you?” Tony asked quietly, tone laden with emotion.

Steve nodded. “Yes. That’s how I felt, back then. There with you but… still in the shadows.”

“When was that?”

Steve squatted down next to him, grabbing for his hand and giving it a little squeeze. “When you rediscovered vibranium.”

The idea for the painting had come to Steve out of nowhere five weeks ago. One second it hadn’t been there and the next it just was. Dazed by the sudden inspiration, he’d wandered New York for hours until he found an art supply store, where he spent a worrisome amount of money on the right brushes and paints.

That very night he had drawn the first concept sketch, and then made his first attempt at the real thing. Unsatisfied with the result, he had tried again the next day. Steve had worked on the piece over and over, every day, for weeks, and every morning he appraised his work and found that it was not yet good enough. It was hard grasping a memory, even though it was still so vivid.

The painting showed the exact moment Tony had realized that he was going to _live_ , that he was going to see the next day, and the day after that. That moment when he’d broken down laughing, leaning against DUM-E with tears in his eyes, not quite crying, but not far from it either. And then that smile… God, that smile—that tiny, fragile thing that had lightened up his face as he looked up at Steve.

Steve had needed to put the perfection of that specific moment onto the canvas. He had wanted it so much he could hardly breathe when it finally turned out just _right_ —had put every ounce of skill to portray Tony just as he always saw him… sitting right in the center of all that energy, all that rawness and passion falling into his being from every direction.

“That was the exact moment when I realized I had fallen in love with you,” Steve explained softly. “Until that point I’d been telling myself that it was just a little crush, that I… that I just had some sort of weird fixation, but… at that moment, I realized that these feelings were the real deal. And I knew I’d do everything to get a chance with you.”

Tony turned to look at him then, straightening up. “It’s… it’s perfect, Steve. I mean, it’s probably wrong of me to say it’s beautiful but… that you see me like this is…” He trailed off, shrugging and actually looking a bit sheepish. “Thank you.”

Steve smiled, pleased. Then, he stood up as well and embraced Tony’s naked form fully, kissing his forehead.

Tony looked down to where their hands were joined, tracing a thumb over Steve’s cufflinks. “And here I thought you couldn’t possibly top that, but there you go. You win the wedding-gift competition. Congratulations.”

Steve snorted and followed Tony’s thoughtful gaze. Bucky’s cufflinks were hexagon-shaped, with geometric patterns along the border, and black engravings on its white-golden surface. He remembered vaguely that they’d belonged to Bucky’s grandfather once, and it was almost surreal that Tony had found them in some World War Two museum.

“I worried that they might bring up bad memories,” Tony admitted after a moment. “I’m glad you like them.”

“I do,” Steve agreed immediately. “And… I know it’s a little stupid, but it almost feels like he had a part in the wedding after all, you know?”

Tony smiled gently. “That’s not stupid at all. I know how much you wanted him to be there for this, and since I can’t bring back the dead, I…” He shrugged. “This I could do.”

Steve nodded, his thoughts trailing off. The words almost tumbled off his lips on their own account. “You know, when Bucky died, I…” He sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I had this moment, when I thought that I might as well quit. That I’d rather let the world go to Hell, because what did it matter if my brother wasn’t in it anymore.”

Tony frowned. “Steve…”

“And that still scares me, sometimes. Whenever I think of Bucky, I think of that moment when his life was more important to me than Millions of people.”

“Babe, you lost your best friend. Most people would have dropped everything then and there… You only had a moment of doubt. And then you soldiered on. That’s what’s important.”

“If it’s my life against many, it always has to be them, Tony. Promise me. We can’t… I’d do anything, Tony. _Anything but this._ ”

“I…” Tony shook his head, then huffed. “Yeah, sure, Steve, but… wow, this got very serious very fast.”

Steve cringed a little. “Right. Sorry. Didn’t want to spoil the mood.”

“Ah, well, don’t be. My wedding vows contained three ‘fucks’ and one ‘jackass’, I think it’s only fair that you get to ruin the pillow talk.”

“I loved your wedding vows,” Steve said with a smile. “And we never needed the pillow talk, anyway.”

Tony grinned and pecked a kiss. “True. And in that regard, how about you finally get out of tha–haat…” Tony groaned, loud and surprised, as Steve took a hold of his softened cock, pumping it once with a slow and tight stroke. “Fuck, Steve, that’s chea–hhiiiting.” Tony yelped as Steve lifted him into his arms and made them tumble on the bed together.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Please, Tony…” Steve said softly. “You promised.”

Endless moments later, Tony’s trembling voice echoed over the comm-line. “Fire,” he said, and the sound was hollow and empty. “Fire, now.”

And then, hell broke loose. Outside, thunderclouds darkened the sky and explosions resounded everywhere, the ground shook, pushing Steve against the railing. Beneath him, Bucky fell on the lower level, taking the rest of the Iron Legion suit with him, and parts of the bridge landed on top them both.

So Steve did the only thing he could. He jumped down too and tried to lift the heavy metal structure that’d landed on top of Bucky.

When freed, Bucky only stared at him.

“We gotta get out of here,” Steve said. It was an obvious statement, but speaking was important now. For the both of them. “Bucky, please, let me get you out of here… You _know_ me.”

Bucky froze, every inch of his body wrought with tension. “No I don’t!” Hard, shattering gasps rocked through his chest. He turned around swiftly, eyes clashing again with his before exploring the area behind him.

“Bucky. You’ve known me your whole life,” Steve said, knowing before it happened that Bucky’d lash out and accepting it. The punch threw him backwards, making him fall hard on the glass floor. “Your name… is James Buchanan Barnes. We’ve been friends since kindergarten for God’s sake!”

Doubt flickered in Bucky’s eyes, along with confusion and fear. There was no belief yet… but there was the space for it. Then, anger overwhelmed his features as he threw another punch, screaming, “Shut up!”

Steve fell on the ground, and it was harder and harder to stand up again. When he did, though, there was some small hesitation on Bucky’s part. They stared at each other, the storm outside making it somewhat difficult to hold their position, but neither of them moved.

“Bucky…” Steve pleaded, before he pulled his helmet off, carelessly throwing it to the side.

An explosion from the engines shattered the window next to them, and a second later, they were both knocked to one side. Bucky staggered to his feet first, and threw out the arm holding the knife in an almost desperate movement that had lost all finesse.

“You’re my friend,” Steve told Bucky firmly. “I’m not gonna fight you.”

And that expression right there—that stubborn look of fighting whatever memories might be rushing to the surface—that was all Bucky.

It was the hardest thing he’d ever done, letting go of the shield’s leather straps, hearing it toppling against the metal bars beneath him, before it rushed down into the water. Because… it did not only mean surrendering to everything Bucky would do to him, it also meant—in some parts—that he was letting Tony down.

Bucky tackled Steve down to the ground, pinning his legs down, letting the metal hand rush down on Steve’s face, hitting him once as hard as he possibly could.

“You are my mission,” Bucky screamed, his fist hovering above Steve, and there was nothing that would make him look more superior in that instant. “YOU… ARE… MY… MISSION!”

“Then finish it,” Steve murmured, clinging to consciousness. Clinging to anything— _anything_. He found himself flashed back—the two of them standing in front of his old apartment in Brooklyn. Steve still in the suit he’d worn for his mother’s funeral, Bucky’s hand on his shoulder. So he voiced those words that Bucky had said to him back then, and they felt familiar, too. Felt right. Felt more like a reassurance than a plea.

“’Cause I’m with you… ‘til the end of the line.”

Shock and confusion fell over Bucky’s features, the fire fading. It happened quickly but there was no mistaking the change, shining through in recognition without control.

Then a spark. Something. A name.

“Steve,” Bucky breathed inarticulately, as if the word had just wormed its way past Bucky’s lips without his consent. And they remained that way for a long moment, Bucky just staring down at him, trying to place his forgotten memories before confusion melted into despair. His brow furrowed. He looked so close, then—within reach of an objective he couldn’t identify…

Whatever decision he was approaching vanished on the breath of a hoarse cry, as two red metal hands clutched Bucky around his throat, choking him. At first, Steve didn’t even understand what was happening. And then, his eyes clashed with Iron Man’s.

The helmet’s unforgiving mask had never looked more furious than in this moment.

“Tony…” Steve gasped brokenly, trying to reach for where Iron Man was strangling Bucky. “Tony, _don’t_.”

It happened too quickly for Steve to do anything. A fierce electric shock surged through Bucky’s body, and there was a moment of hurt-betrayal flashing across his eyes, before he went completely limp. He dropped forward, and Iron Man didn’t stop him from tumbling down on the floor.

The next instant, something crashed hard above their heads, and the ground began to shake. The steel beams whined, and in the distance, he heard something rip apart. And then the floor gave way, and in an instant, Steve was falling—

Almost.

Iron Man gripped his body and pulled him into a fierce embrace. Next to them, Bucky’s form was tumbling down, rushing headfirst towards the water’s surface.

“Save him,” Steve croaked. “God, Tony, _please_.”

“He doesn’t deserve to be saved,” Iron Man’s hard robotic voice snapped.

Steve stared down towards the river.

Knowing was one thing. Understanding was something entirely different.

Bucky was falling. Again. And he was going to die.

Despite what most of America believed, Steve had never been a great believer in God. He liked the idea of some sort of justice that was beyond humanity’s reach, but he’d never quite believed in a higher force or an all-knowing being. Truth be told, he hadn’t believed in much of anything since his mother had developed her first cough, and as a teenager he’d publicly denounced religion and God in the middle of class.

Some vague faith in the divine had returned to him after meeting Erskine, but World War Two had changed that. He’d never tried to let it show—although most of his men probably felt the same way—but after what he’d seen, and more importantly done, he had been convinced that life was little more than a series of events connected only by the people who were affected by them.

And now… how could you believe in a God when your brother was tumbling to his death a second time while you could have saved him?

Steve stared down to the river, and he struggled for consciousness, but his limbs were heavy and he felt himself drifting into blackness. Feeling drained from him. He vaguely heard Tony giving orders, but did not possess the clarity to identify the words.

By the time he was put down on some sort of surface, he did not feel it.

He didn’t feel much of anything anymore.


	7. To Be Unmade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooo, I’m back from vacation! Thanks so much for all your kind messages <3 The next chaps will have a split-POV and I’m very excited what you think of it. Please be assured that this is and always will be a Stony-centered fic, and there is going to be more plot on their part, as well as fluff and general sappiness. But: I also felt the need to explore my own Bucknat story a little more, so there's going to be a few scenes in the next chaps that are only focused on those two, and I really hope you guys are going to bear with me, even if you're not much of a Bucknat shipper (I love them, but I don't really *ship* them, or anything). This won't be 100% comic-canon, and not a 100% MCU canon (although I wished it were), but something in-between and I hope you guys will like it. And, yeah, to emphasize this again: We'll come back to the more Stony-centered parts very soon.
> 
> As always beta'ed by the wonderful [morphia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/morphia/pseuds/morphia).

**Tony | Bucky**

 

 

Tony hesitated a step before he walked into the hospital room, a dark thought entering his mind without resistance. For the first time since he and Steve had gotten together, he wasn’t sure whether or not he was welcome at his side. Not after what had happened on the Helicarrier.

Of course, Tony assumed the chances that Steve would break up with him were pretty slim as long as he was still unconscious.

A sigh left Tony’s lips as he finally crossed the threshold, forcing himself not to lose it at the sight of Steve’s yellow and purple face. His left cheek was bandaged and he was hooked up to more machines than Tony could identify. The beep of the heart monitor was strong, though, and Tony made himself focus on that.

Steve hadn’t even needed to go through surgery, and rationally speaking, Tony knew that he only had to get a bit of rest and the serum would have him up and running in no time. Just… looking at him now made it harder for him to remember that. Seeing him so broken… it wasn’t something that Tony was used to. He looked even weaker now, lying in this small bed, than he had when Tony had clawed him free of Bucky Barnes’ hold.

Slowly, Tony approached the bed. He sat Steve’s shield down on the floor next to it, cautiously leaning it against the wall, and let his fingers brush over the smooth surface for a moment. It had taken JARVIS about two minutes to track the shield, and even less to retrieve it. It was the fact that fishing the damn shield out of the damn Potomac river was necessary that didn't sit well with Tony. With another long sigh, he sat down and took one of Steve’s hands in his. His skin felt cold, but there was also a healthy pulse beating underneath.

In some way, Tony had known that he would find himself here in this place. It had been the most likely outcome. Bucky Barnes had been Steve's best friend to an extent that Tony would likely never understand. He'd just hoped that maybe... Tony frowned. Maybe what? Have Steve call it a night when things didn't go as planned? Have him surrender even though there was still a chance he might actually save his friend?

That wasn't Steve. And as much as it hurt that he had risked his life like that... it was also one of the reasons why Tony loved him. Steve didn't quit. He didn't stop as long as there was still something to fight for. It was what made him a hero. It was part of their lives, and at the end of the day, Tony needed to respect that.

Hours passed like that, with Tony staring down at Steve's still form. The others took turns to keep him company, bringing him food and coffee, even though he had barely nibbled on a sandwich by the time the sun went down outside.

“You sure you don’t want to take a nap?” Sam asked quietly as he made to stand up. He’d been sitting at Steve’s side for hours without complaining. “I could stay a little while longer.”

“I slept plenty.”

“Yeah, if by ‘sleep’ you mean ‘being drugged on morphine’, then sure…”

Tony snorted. Sam would fit into the team just fine. “I’m good here. Thanks.” With that, he cast Sam a grateful smile. “Don’t know if you’re interested in this becoming a long-term thing, but there’s plenty of space in the tower and you’re welcome whenever.”

Sam blinked as though it was surprising. As though he hadn’t just risked his life at their side, fighting a fight that had nothing to do with him. Sam had definitely earned himself a spot on the team.

“You sure?” he asked evenly.

Tony crooked a small grin. “Just come by the tower whenever you like. JARVIS will guide you to the top floors. You can move in, or you can just visit sometimes, it’s your call. You’re part of the team now, as far as I’m concerned, and since our leader is out of commission right now, my word’s law.”

Sam nodded, obviously a little dazed. After a moment, he stepped closer, casting a pointed look down on Steve. “Tell him I expect to see him ready for our morning run, soon.”

Tony smiled. “Will do. It was nice to meet you, Sam. At least drop by for those upgrades I promised you, alright?”

Sam nodded respectfully, shook Tony’s hand, then turned on his heels and left the room.

Tony glanced back at Steve, then closed his eyes and filtered through the latest news. JARVIS had an eye on every media channel, and more and more details began to emerge as the news reporters ferreted out the story surrounding SHIELD’s downfall.

And what a downfall it was.

Within hours, a crisis committee had declared SHIELD a terrorist organization, with many agents considered fugitives. Tony had helped Phil with erasing whatever identities he could, but in the end, most of their files were up and about… Natasha’s, Clint’s, the whole team’s; JARVIS was filtering what he could, but all in all, they were all out in the open now, every dirty secret, every step they’d ever taken. Right now, the focus was on HYDRA, Pierce and a few world-famous historical catastrophes HYDRA had played a part in over the years. And luckily for them, no one made the connection between HYDRA and Bucky Barnes.

_Yet_.

Tony knew it was only a matter of time before some captured HYDRA agent spoke to the press. Or one of SHIELD’s, or even someone from SI who’d noticed when JARVIS had brought Barnes into Stark Tower. In any case, someone _would_ talk. Barnes’ name would come up and that proverbial cat would be well and truly out of the bag. And with Pierce gone, Barnes would face the full force of his actions.

And that was something Tony couldn’t let happen.

In the last ten-something hours, he’d managed, probably for sheer dumb luck, to keep the identity and whereabouts of the 'mystery shooter' unknown. How much longer that would last wasn’t clear. But Tony knew, the moment one reporter—just one—had the scoop, all bets were off.

Barnes would be removed from their control and Steve’d likely only see him again at the trial, if there ever was one. And then, he would be put in some cell, never to resurface and everything Steve had fought for would have been for nothing. Rationally, Tony knew that it would be for the best. It was safer for Steve and the rest of the team. And yet he couldn’t let it happen, couldn’t have them get their hands on Barnes.

There had been a moment, on the Helicarrier, when he’d thought about letting Bucky Barnes fall into that river—let him drown, let him die for what he had done to Steve. Of course, that moment didn’t last. Letting your husband’s best friend die? Probably not the best move. The moment had been gone as fast as it had come, and within seconds, JARVIS had plucked Barnes right out of the air and brought him to the towers’ medical floor.

Needing something to do with his hands, Tony stood up, walked around the small hospital bed, and grabbed for his Stark tablet. There were already dozens of appointments scheduled for the next week; with the new Department of Defense committee, the Congress, the military and a handful of other organizations he hadn’t even known existed. He filtered through his calendar, copying a few meetings to Maria Hill’s device, before mailing Pepper to meet up soon.

At the very least, he owed that woman an explanation.

And a new pair of shoes.

Things were going to change drastically, and there was no way to tell where they were heading. With all of this leaked information, accessible to anyone, anywhere—reports and data that weren’t set into perspective correctly—some people would inevitably turn against them. The first reaction towards things that couldn’t be explained had always been— _and would always be_ —fear.

Tony sighed, opening the blueprints of Mark Forty-Three. Building something always distracted him from whatever was weighing heavily on his mind and so he set out to make improvements on the suit’s chest-plate, first.

Very quickly, he was immersed in the work, his mind blissfully blank. It was barely eight in the morning, and though he’d built half of the suit’s matrix, Tony was still restless. He needed to _do_ something—needed to move around.

Of course, he wouldn’t leave the room.

Tony rubbed his forehead, looking up at Steve’s bruised face. “Need you to wake up, old man.”

In the end, though, it took the whole rest of the day and a few hours into the night before Steve finally woke up. First his fingers twitched, then he furrowed his brows, slowly blinking himself to alertness.

Tony recognized the instant Steve became aware of him. The instant he remembered everything that had happened. And, while Tony was prepared for almost every reaction—disappointment, hurt, despise—Steve’s eyes only found Tony's with sleepy relief, and banished all of his worries at once.

“Before you say anything,” Tony started with a firm yet gentle voice, holding up a finger and pointing it towards Steve’s chest, “I feel obligated to tell you that—the tracker in your uniform? Stays. Forever. And no, you don’t get a veto.”

Steve blinked, and looked at him for a long, dumbfound moment. Then he cleared his throat, shifting a little to get more comfortable. “What?”

“Your habit of falling off of things is getting out of hand.”

Steve stared at him blankly, then he seemed to realize what Tony was talking about and cast him a soft smile. “Technically, I didn’t fall.”

Tony opened his mouth, closed it again. “Yeah, _well_ , but you would have if I hadn’t been there! Besides, letting someone beat you until you can’t defend yourself anymore isn’t exactly making me feel better.”

Steve sighed, one hand clumsily moving in Tony’s direction. At once, Tony reached out. Some innate part of him had to touch Steve. When their fingertips touched, he nearly crumpled at the raw strength that coursed beneath Steve’s skin.

“It was my only chance to get through to him,” Steve told him. “I knew he was still in there. I saw it in his eyes, Tony, I couldn’t just leave him there…”

“He almost killed you.”

“I know.”

“And you’d let him.”

Steve cringed, but didn't break eye-contact. “I knew he wouldn't, I... I _believed_ that he'd remember before it was too late. I know what it must've looked like, and I'm sorry that you had to go through that, I really am, but the serum can take a lot. A lot more than some flesh wounds, and I needed to take that chance.”

Tony sighed, and didn’t say anything. What was he supposed to say to that? What Steve was calling 'flesh wounds' had been four broken ribs, one fractured cheekbone, two stab wounds, one graze and two gunshot wounds, as well as a head trauma and severe blood loss, but it wouldn't be of any use to rub that in, now.

Steve sat up with a slight wince, staring down at their linked hands for a long lost moment. There was a long, heavy pause… and it took Steve a whole minute before he could reestablish eye contact. When he opened his mouth, Tony already knew what he was going to ask. “Did you…” He bit his lower lip, and his eyes were so terribly glassy that Tony almost lost his bearings. “I mean, is he…”

Tony took a deep breath, squeezing Steve’s hand in reassurance. “He’s alive. J brought him to the tower. He's still unconscious, as far as I’m informed, but he’s fine, and healing… almost as fast as you, by the way.”

Steve blinked, and Tony told himself firmly not to be offended by the fact that his husband believed him to be capable of letting his best friend die.

“It’s what you wanted, right?”

Steve nodded vehemently. “It is. It’s—”

“Cause I can still throw him into that river, you just have to say the word.”

Steve opened his mouth, but no words were forthcoming. On a second thought, Tony made to crawl into the hospital bed, and cautiously laid his head on Steve’s chest. Steve shifted a bit, stroking Tony’s hair and kissing his forehead a few times. “Thank you,” he said eventually, his voice very soft.

“Yeah, yeah…” Tony grunted and pressed himself more fully against Steve’s warm body. “Just don’t make it a habit. I’m sick of your strays. If you could, you’d just stuff my whole tower with these kinds of people.”

Steve snorted, then started to laugh. A breathy, happy laugh as he pulled Tony into a tight embrace. “We saved the world,” he murmured wondrously.

Tony nodded with a tight smile, knowing that it really was this easy for Steve. They’d won the fight, and that was that—for now. “Yes, again,” he agreed. “Think we’ll ever have to not do that?”

“I hope not.”

“Why?”

“If ever we came to a point where saving the world was no longer imperative, it would be because we had failed.” Steve smiled wanly. “We’re very good at what we do.”

There was no arguing with that. “Getting better all the time.”

Steve smiled and cupped Tony's cheek, drawing his eyes upwards. “I love you.”

Tony snorted, holding back every snarky comment waiting at his tongue. “Yeah… love you, too, suicidal tendencies and all.”

And that was all. The silence encircled them once more. Steve pressed small, soft kisses all over Tony's forehead while their arms were wrapped tightly around one another. And however much the last hours had left Tony shaken, this was enough. Knowing that, at the end of the day, Steve was alive and still loved him—it was enough. Everything else they could work through together, everything else Tony could deal with—as long as Steve was still there at his side.

Eventually, Steve's breath slowly evened out, and he drifted back to a much-needed sleep. After a few minutes of listening to the steady beating of his heart, Tony turned around in his arms, leaning up so that his eyes were level with Steve's closed ones. "I hate what you did there," he whispered softly, because he needed to say it, at least once. "I understand why you did it, but... I really hate it."

Steve's nose scrunched up adorably at that, but he was otherwise out of commission. Tony pressed himself as close as he could get without causing Steve any pain, and closed his eyes as well.

_How’s our patient?_ he asked via Extremis.

_Sergeant Barnes remains unconscious, sir, and does not respond to any form of stimuli,_ JARVIS replied _. Doctor Banner has been analyzing his MRI scans and located three mental implants in his parietal lobe. He believes such implants might be responsible for his lack of memories._

Tony released a slow, steady breath. _And?_

There was a prolonged pause.

_Doctor Banner believes that by deactivating said implants, Sergeant Barnes will be exposed to random surges of memories that have been suppressed so far. He worries about how that will interfere with his recovery and is therefore currently looking for a technique to deactivate one implant at a time in order to release those memories in three surges. He hopes that by creating a controlled environment, Sergeant Barnes might be able to process the stimulation in a sufficient way._

Tony nodded slowly. _Keep me updated._

_Very well, sir._

 

* * *

 

 

Arrival at Stark Tower one day later went, for all intents and purposes, as was expected. Steve nearly doubled over when he tried to get to the medical floor, demanding to see Barnes right away.

So Tony and Bruce had led Steve to the medical cell that they had set up for Barnes the day of his arrival. It had been one of the first Hulk-Out rooms, and it had gone virtually unused so far. There was a large bed in the middle and a few non-visible cabinets with medical equipment and lots and lots of tranquilizers. Aside from the reinforced glass front surrounding it, and the various restraints and shackles that could be retracted from the bed and walls, it was a simple yet comfortable room, but those details were of no meaning to Steve at the time.

Even in the dim light, the various injuries marring Barnes’ pale skin were painfully visible. Bruce had removed his jacket, shirt, and boots when he’d brought him into the room yesterday, needing the access to those wounds on his chest. He’d cleared off the excess blood before he’d covered each of them with gauze.

And now, Barnes just looked incredibly small—even diminished, somehow. There were the new, more colorful scars and bruises, but there were also... Hundreds of older ones. Scratch wounds, burns, cuts, gunshot wounds... Barnes' body was a canvas of the life he'd been forced to live, and the sight wasn't pretty.

Tony could pinpoint the exact second when the guilt took hold of Steve’s heart, his mind racing with thoughts of what he’d done for Barnes to look like that—which wounds had been his own fault.

Barnes had been unconscious ever since the Iron Legion suit had plucked him out of the air, the stress of the past few days apparently more than his broken brain could handle. And Tony knew the injuries that extended past the physical were going to be even harder to recover from.

Still, he was better off than Steve had been, and that thought alone made every ounce of pity in Tony's heart vanish.

How long they sat with Barnes, Tony didn’t know. At one point, Bruce made to leave for his research lab, while Steve sat in undisturbed silence, watching his friend for all his stillness. With each passing second that Steve sat there like a statue, frozen and unmoving, though,  Tony’s worry threatened to shatter whatever was left in him to shatter.

“What are you thinking?” he asked eventually, stepping up to Steve and gently laid a hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t know,” Steve said after a moment, his voice very soft. “My mind’s blank.”

Tony nodded in understanding, carding his fingers across Steve’s scalp. “We’ll help him get through this. I’ll do everything I can, I promise.”

A sigh coursed through Steve’s body, and he leaned forward in despair. “What if he hates me for bringing him here?”

Tony pursed his lips, rubbing his back softly. “First of all, I brought him here. Feel free to tell him that. But… apart from that, he’ll forgive you. You’re his best friend.”

A bitter chuckle left Steve’s lips. “It’s not that simple.”

“Of course not. It might take him a while, but everything’s forgivable. Even for a criminal centenarian.”

Steve furrowed his brows disapprovingly. “Don’t call him that.”

Tony arched a brow. “He almost killed the both of us within half a day, I think I’m allowed to call him whatever I want.”

Steve glanced upward, tormented eyes glimmering with a few beads of hidden amusement. “Haven’t you ever heard of respecting your elders?”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed. “Kinda figured that one’s a pick and choose type of thing. Selective respect, you know? Wouldn’t want to be _respecting_ the wrong sort of elder. That could lead to a few awkward situations.”

Steve smiled ruefully and pulled Tony close to press a lingering kiss against his lips. “Got that right.” His gaze once again fell upon Barnes. “This feels terrible.”

Tony nodded, his hand resuming the artless patterns of comfort that drew across his back. “Not being able to help?” He smiled warmly when Steve glanced at him with surprise, obviously disliking that he was that simple to read. “It’s okay to just stand by for once, you know. Let someone else step in. Even for a super soldier.”

When Steve stiffened in implication, a sigh of concession rumbled through Tony’s lips. “Sweetheart, it wasn’t your fault. You did everything you could. Absolutely, positively, one-hundred-percent everything you could. Far more than you should have, and certainly more than he deserved. My point is, this is the first time that your mission of ‘Saving Bucky Barnes’ only requires you to do nothing but wait. Of course that makes you uncomfortable. You just have to trust me and Bruce to get the job done.”

Steve shifted uncomfortably, and if Tony wouldn’t know the man as thoroughly as he did, he’d say that he was _pouting_. “I trust you,” Steve mumbled. “I just don’t like it.”

“It’ll be okay,” Tony ventured with a small snort, then leaned in to kiss Steve’s cheek once more. When he turned around he saw Bruce standing outside the room, raising a chart at him, face very serious.

Tony nodded shortly. “Gotta talk with Bruce. And then, I’m gonna head back upstairs, make us something to eat,” he said, patting Steve twice more in support before standing up. “You could come with me.”

“No, I’m staying.” Steve turned back to fully face the bed. He seemed to realize how abrupt his answer had been, and cast Tony an apologetic glance. “I mean… I can’t leave him until… I can’t leave him.”

Tony sighed pitifully. “It’s okay, I understand. Gonna have to share you from now on, huh?”

Steve rolled his eyes and heaved a breath of exasperation. “That’s where you wanna take this? Really?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Best buddy—You owe him—I get it. I’ll be back down in an hour.”

“Thanks,” Steve said, though his thoughts were decidedly elsewhere. “I appreciate it.”

Tony moved for the door. “We’re all upstairs if you need anything.”

There was nothing in reply. Steve sat in silence. Seemingly satisfied to watch his friend, for now.

 

 

* * *

 

 

In a way, it amazed Tony that after everything he had seen in those last days, that he still managed to be captured by the propensity in which a situation could progress from bad to worse.

Only hours after he and Bruce had finally found a method that had good chances to deactivate the implants in Barnes’ brain without causing him harm in the process, the door to Barnes' room flew open. It was Maria Hill who paraded inward, first. She wore an expression that could freeze Hell, though the determination on her face looked more prone to raise it. Tony should’ve known better than to think just because she’d decided to work for him now, she’d follow his orders like she’d done with Fury.

Behind her, Natasha and Clint filed into the room, looking a little disheveled and more than a little tired—it was probably dead of the night then, Tony really had lost track of time. Natasha only cast Barnes' form a fleeting glance. She'd been in his room a couple of times within the last days, but never actually gave him more than a moment's consideration. Tony could tell that she was guarding her reactions very carefully, but aside from that, he had no idea what was going through her head and he figured, that was exactly what she wanted.

“I’m having trouble with this,” Maria said as means of greeting. “You want to know why?”

Tony frowned and fought the temptation to simply bang his head against the wall next to him. “Because your shoes really don’t match that blazer?”

That didn’t seem to help. Coulson brushed passed Maria without tossing her a second glance and slammed what looked to be a SHIELD file on the desk in front of Tony.

“Those are a bit outdated, don’t you think?” Tony said, pointing at the SHIELD logo.

“There are twelve reports from different victims who were attacked by the same shooter,” Coulson said with a clipped tone. “ _Twelve_. There are descriptions of a man with a metal arm, and even identikit pictures that aren’t far off the mark. You told me no one identified him. You said it was safe to bring him here—”

“It’s certainly safer than any alternative you can come up with at the moment,” Tony snapped. “Descriptions aren’t a name.”

“Sergeant Barnes is world-famous,” Maria said. “They’ll make the connection and you know it.”

Tony sighed. Yeah, he knew it alright.

Maria’s eyes were now trained steadfast on Barnes’ form, her expression hard. “How long has he been like that?” she asked.

“Just short of two days,” Bruce said, not quite looking up from his chart.

Maria stepped closer. “And he hasn’t woken up?”

“He is coming to terms,” Natasha said with a narrow expression.

“We couldn’t work on the implants,” Tony explained. “He wasn’t stable enough.”

“How did you even get him here?” Maria asked. She was looking sort of angry without showing it. “What were you thinking? Inviting a killer into a place that doesn’t have the necessary safety measures.”

Suddenly, Steve stepped into the room. His bruises had faded by now, and still… he looked dead-tired, like he hadn’t slept ever since he’d returned from hospital. And seeing how he was sort of sleeping on the cot in front of Bucky's room these days, that was likely true. His spirits were clearly up, though, and his eyes flashing. “This place is my home, Maria,” he snapped. “ _Our_ home. Just because you work here now doesn’t mean you can tell us who to invite into it.”

Maria huffed, rolling her eyes at Steve. “Oh, well,” she said. “Let’s just invite all the evils of this world over to watch movies. Anyone got Loki’s telephone number? I hear he’s not much of a talker, these days, but—”

“Maria!” Coulson’s voice broke out above the din, unusually harsh and authoritative. Immediately, Maria fell silent, and Coulson went on more quietly, “Now is not the time for this. Sergeant Barnes is obviously not stable… and who knows what he’s had to endure for the past several decades. The tower’s safety standards may not meet SHIELD’s expectations, but—”

“—There isn’t something such as ‘SHIELD’s expectations’, anymore,” Tony reminded him.

Coulson paused, frowning at the words, obviously realizing for the first time that SHIELD was no more. “— _but_ it’s the safest place for him. He should have people around him who care. And people who can put him in his place if need be.”

Clint sighed. “Honestly, guys, he looks kind of like… a sack o’ potatoes.” He glanced up at Bruce. “Are you sure his mind hasn’t turned into jelly?”

Amazingly, Natasha's neutral mask fell at that, and she turned on Clint with a fiercely protective expression. “He could hear us. How could you say something like that?”

Unaffected by the rebuke, Clint merely shrugged. “It’s a valid question. And it’s not like it’s going to upset him. If he is brain damaged from being frozen and defrozen hundreds of times, he won’t know what I’m talking about anyway. And if he isn’t, then why should he be offended?”

“Do you have _any_ control over what comes out of your mouth?” Natasha demanded angrily.

Before the argument could escalate, Bruce intervened, putting a hand on Natasha’s shoulders and gently pulling her out of the fray. “Now isn’t the time.”

Maria nodded determinedly. “You’re absolutely right, Doctor Banner. It isn’t. Now’s the time to put the Winter Soldier in front of a judge, where he belongs.”

Steve squared his shoulders. “You’ve got no right to do that. You’ve got no authority.”

Maria backed down a little, but not by much. “Okay…” she said in a quieter tone. “I don’t. But he assassinated _dozens_ of people. He killed your parents, Tony. Do they not count for anything?”

Tony sighed tiredly. This was getting really old, really fast. “It wasn’t Barnes who killed any of those people,” he said with every last grain of patience that he could muster.

Truth be told, he didn’t like to think too much of his parent’s deaths and Barnes’ involvement in their apparent assassination. It was one of the many things Tony had pushed aside, hidden away in a dark compartment of his brain where he didn’t have to think about it. The reasonable part of him believed his own words, knew that it hadn’t been Steve’s Bucky who had killed those people, but a brainwashed shell of a man, who already didn’t exist anymore. And now wasn't the time to sort through any lingering doubts about that.

“What?” Maria asked askance. “Of course it was! All the things he’s done—”

“Well, let’s just take away everything that means anything to you, Maria, and then take away your conscience, too. Then, you tell me what you’d be capable of—”

“It’s fine, Tony,” Steve interrupted, and looked back at her. “You don’t have to agree with us. We don’t need your consent to keep him here.” He shot the rest of them—Coulson in particular—a look that warned them not to argue with him.

Natasha nodded in agreement, first looking at Maria, then at Coulson. “You of all people ought to know that what he’s going through demands privacy. What he needs right now is rest and quiet.”

“And a shower and new clothes couldn’t hurt,” added Clint. He motioned to Barnes’ torn and filthy pants, to the grime and blood that still streaked his arm and face.

“And you think he’s going to be all right?” Coulson asked quietly.

“Does it matter?” Tony asked. “He’s here now. We’ll have to deal with it no matter what.”

“What exactly is his mental condition?”

“They wiped his memory numerous times and rigged his brain with implants,” Bruce explained slowly, glancing up at Steve. “It’s all we know for now. We’ve been working to get him into a condition that’d make it safe to shut off the implants. I expect that we’ll have his brain sorted out soon, but we can’t say how he’ll react to his new memories. It’s—”

“Complicated,” Steve broke in softly. “I know. We don’t expect miracles… Just keep trying.”

Bruce nodded with a hint of his old meekness and did not argue.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Tony didn’t know how late it was. These days, he worked without realizing an hour had passed. He and Bruce had been in medical for a while, he knew, but the approximation on time was lost to him.

On the outside, it looked like Barnes slept. But Tony could tell it was a false sense of calm. It wasn’t as though they could call it a coma, per se—not really; there were faint whisperings, and uncontrolled cries at night.

The point was, however, that Barnes wasn’t waking up.

His wounds had disappeared within the first three days after his arrival—all except of the scars marring the skin of his shoulder where the metal arm was sewed into his body.

Everything in Tony itched to take scans of his bionic arm, itched to prod and improve, but he knew a thing or two about objects being stuffed onto one’s body without consent. The arm seemed to be functional for now, and everything else would have to wait until Barnes was awake.

They were still trying to pinpoint what exactly HYDRA had done to Barnes’ brain. And how it would affect him, now that he’d taken that first step into remembering who he’d once been.

It was a battle of wills, Tony suspected. The implants were still trying to keep him on track—a mixture of sensory deprivation and indoctrination, molding him into the perfect assassin— while Barnes’ brain tried to force those memories back to the surface.

Tony stepped into the laboratory while instructing JARVIS to confirm his appointment with the Secretary of Defense in three days. He took a few minutes to skim through the new compounds Bruce had mixed into Barnes’ infusion-cocktail. There were drugs to remove fluids from the brain, and a few sedatives to reduce metabolism and decrease the pressure. There had been a lot of aspects to consider. New suggestions on what it was that would best ease him back into a life of free will. They had safely discarded three of five concoctions and the fourth finally seemed to do the trick.

Barnes was as calm as could be expected, but still aware of his surroundings.

As Tony made his way through the hallway leading to Barnes’ room, he came across Steve and Natasha. Every waking hour, they were seated side by side in the hallway of the infirmary. They didn’t talk, as far as Tony knew. There was still this icy distance between them, and above that—whenever Tony walked past them, the air was thick with anticipation. They were expecting him to finally offer the solution to everything on a silver plate, as if he was the only one who could do so. It left him both pleased and scared shitless of failure. If Bucky Barnes died at their hands, the consequences could be inexorable.

As always, Tony gave Steve a quick kiss and cast Natasha a friendly smile as he walked by, but there wasn’t ever any time for small-talk. Not when there was a job to be done, and getting Barnes' brain sorted out was nothing if not time-sensitive.

“Clearly, the implants altered his memories in some way,” Bruce said, as if they’d been in the middle of a conversation. He was hunched over a few monitors, just as Tony walked back into the Hulk room. “Rewriting portions to fit with some grander scheme. Most likely, it was done to reduce his moral objections to a minimum.”

Tony hummed in agreement, looking up at Barnes’ vitals. As expected, everything seemed to be stable enough. They were close now—closer than ever before. “And those fake memories will fade once we deactivate them?”

Bruce sighed, giving the monitor a last look before he turned back. “I don’t think we can be certain of anything until he wakes up.” He paused, raising a brow at him. “You ready?”

Tony took a deep breath, and nodded, moving the scanner above Barnes’ head. It was easy to access the implants, easy to shut them down, even. It was the moments afterwards that mattered—and he had no idea what would await them on the other side.

This was it then. No more test-runs. No more idle twiddling. Together, he and Bruce would get Barnes out of wherever his mind was stuck. And maybe… _maybe_ he could finally get some sleep afterwards.

“Here goes nothing,” Tony announced and logged into Extremis, shutting down the first implant with a single click.

 

 

* * *

 

_1945._

_‘The procedure has already started.’_

He awoke in a dark, closed space. He was standing, his arms crossed over his chest, his waist restrained to the surface behind him. There was some sort of liquid around him. It was not warm and yet not altogether cold. But it was unyielding. Uncomfortable. The entire place was uncomfortable. It smelled odd, thick with antiseptic, and the odors of staleness and something else, something familiar he could not identify. Whatever it was, it was not a pleasant smell. The space around him was pitch black, and he could not see at all.

_‘You will be the new fist of HYDRA.’_

Clenching and unclenching his hands, he tried to stop shaking. He could feel a thundering in his ears, harsh gasps filling in the space between. Eyes darted around trying to discover where he was. There was no light. No relief from the black surrounding him.

He started to trash against his restraints, eager to leave that foul, claustrophobic place and to find some fresh air. Yet when he tried, he realized that he could not sit up. There was little more than a four-inch gap between his face and the lid of the box in which he now resided. Because it was a box, he realized. A box made out of metal he could not open, could not break through. There was some sort of spyhole right in front of his face, a window so thick with ice that looking through it was impossible.

_‘Put him on ice.’_

He saw his mirror image in the ice. Distorted maybe, but that was his face—it had to be. He squinted as his features, gauging his every move.

He didn’t remember his name.

_‘Wipe him and start over.’_

His fingers probed the walls around him, and it did not take him long to realize the box was not just a box at all. It was some sort of container. And the cold hard material that his body rested on was melting ice. That was when shock ended, and he fully grasped the horror of his situation.

And then, the door opened.

Several hands forced his body into the cold, fresh air. Light was all around him—blazing white, hot, and cruel. Nothing else. Nothing at all for what seemed like an eternity. Then, the world appeared again in a blinding whirl of color and sound, and he was thrown, by some uncaring hand, onto some hard surface. For a moment, he could only lie there, gasping. His lungs hurt with each breath, as if they had become unaccustomed to the effort.

They sat him down on a chair and his fingertips dug into it, as he slowly raised his head so that he could see. And it was—

People were clapping and laughing at his form, while he was still half-sobbing from the terror of it all. He tried to focus on the shapes of their bodies, bent over like trees in the wind, but his eyes keep getting pulled away to the rest of the room. Squirming against the back of the chair, he stared up at his morbid surrounding.

Twists and coils of wires hung from the low ceiling of the dark room, their ends feeding into strange machinery he didn’t recognize. Here and there he spied a familiar piece of technology. And there, built into the wall, was a mosaic of screens. Though they were blank, every movement the people around him made sent a slice of light across their dark surfaces, as though the room was watching them.

Then he spotted a case of sharp metal instruments on a tray beside the operating table; the blade of a scalpel gleaming in the low light.

“Status?” a short man with the glasses asked.

A woman stepped forward. “He had fifteen bleeding incidents as a result of dislocation of the Controller Implant after attachment, but has survived them all,” she said with a flat voice. “Attachments have been stable for at least one month. His vitals have been steady eighty-two days now, though his blood pressure is still a touch higher than we’d like. His cerebral cortex seems to be adapting well to the controller. We expect him to progress to phase four soon, to begin cognitive testing.”

“Promising,” the man nodded.

Try as he might, he could not wrap his dizzied mind around what the woman was talking about. The last thing he could remember, before waking up in the container, was a fast moving train, snow, and a then nothing. His fingertips pressed firmly into the armrests. He closed his eyes, trying to force the memory into the forefront of his mind. It did not work.

_‘I thought you were dead’_ , he remembered a voice say.

_‘I thought you were smaller.’_

“Where am I,” he choked, wretchedly. “What did you _do_ to me?”

Despair threatened to overtake him. Next to him, six men were leaning against the wall, tables or just standing there. Doctors, and a few armed guards. One of them edged closer—the small, almost bald man with huge glasses. “Sergeant Barnes,” he said with clear pride in his voice. “I never doubted that you would make it.”

He rose up on his elbows and looked over. “Who are you?” he demanded. _‘Who am I?’_ he didn’t say.

Obligingly, the man walked out into the direct light above him. He seemed familiar in a surreal sort of way, like he’d been dreaming of this face, dreaming of what the person attached to that face had done to him.

“You are the man who found me,” he recalled.

The man clapped his hands together in the manner of an excited child. “Yes, yes!” he said happily. “What else do you know?”

“You… talked to me… asked me…” He rose to his feet, but he was weak and trembling. He braced one hand against a cold wall to steady himself, and his voice was stronger than his legs when he said, “You… you hurt me…”

“No. I _conceived_ you,” the man replied exultantly. “A Super Soldier of my very own; I’ve been waiting so long for you.”

Baffled, he could only stare at the man. “Something's wrong with me,” he said, finally. “I feel—”

The man’s smile widened, and for the fracture of a second, his gaze flickered down to his torso.

He looked down at himself, staring down to where some sort of metal arm—some _prosthesis_ —was sewed to his body. The flesh around the metal was bruised, but the scars were clearly old, like they’d been there for long time, and that couldn’t possibly be right, could it?

Like a spell breaking, everything returned to him at once. HYDRA. Arnim Zola. He looked over at the man with something akin to shock. “I fell. You found me.”

There was a small smile playing around the man’s lips. “You’re my creature,” he said almost softly. “Do you understand what is expected of you?”

He shook his head vehemently. Not quite putting his thoughts together but at least seeing the puzzle-pieces in his mind. Vaguely, he remembered falling from the train in Italy, again, falling, falling, _dying_ …

_Steve._

He didn’t realize he said the word aloud, but suddenly the man in front of him was scowling with anger.

“He is still attached,” he said darkly and waved two of the men behind him over. “We will have to change that.” Instantly, the men behind him rose to their feet and made their way over to him.

Oddly, he felt no particular sense of despair upon hearing this. Rather, there was a certain feeling of detachment, as if all this could not possibly be happening to him. He looked at the tools lying on a table and then back to the man in front of him. “Am I dead?”

The man shook his head. “Oh, no. No. Far from it. You shall live forever.”

Forever. Then, there would be no merciful death, no peace from the burning in his heart.

“Why?” he asked as the men pushed him back into the chair, gagging him with a mouth guard.

The man frowned at him with something akin to disappointment, as if he shouldn't be asking for a reason. Then, he turned to the other two men wearing white lab coats. “Prepare the next implant. We will begin with sensory deprivation next.”

“How many times did you do this to me?” he shouted around the mouth guard, the need to know finally rising to the surface, but the words were muffled and no one cared to answer him. “What year is this? How long have I been here? HOW LONG?!”

And then, electricity burst through his limbs. Pain rained down on his face, filling his eyes, nose and mouth. Choking a bit, he screamed. He _screamed_. Screamed until his lungs gave out.

Steve. He had to remember Steve. _Do not forget, do not forget._

Sergeant Barnes. He’d said his name was Sergeant Barnes.

_Do not forget your name._

_Do not forget Steve._

_Do not forget._

—

_1947.  
_

“I have news for you, my creature.”

News. News had to be a good thing. News meant it was over. It was over. It was over. Relief swept over him. A tidal wave of pure, unadulterated relief.

_It was over._

“Yes,” his master agreed with a nod. “It is over. You did succeed. Your body accepted the first treatment.”

And just like that, relief fell into something dark and ugly. The rest faded to a dull buzz.

The first.

“I am impressed. I anticipated more difficulties.” His master smiled. “Gut gemacht, Soldat.”

The man next to him, one of the armed guards, offered a nasty grin, taking a step forward. He leaned down, lips pressing to his ear, just as the familiar pain started to surge through every part of his body, whispering, “Just close your eyes and think of America.”

Numbness seeped into his bones and his surroundings faded into the shadows once more.

_—_

_1955._

There were times he thought he’d slept for years, or at least it felt like it. He would fade away and wake up forever later only to find more of him missing. It was as though the corners in his mind had started to round, rendering the shapes which he had relied upon into nothing more than familiar blurs. Things he’d known all his life began running together. Life before seemed like a place he’d dreamed, an unanswered wish. People he’d kept with him became phantoms, and every day, he lost something important. Something he should try to hold onto, but couldn’t despite his best efforts.

There was a part of him that had forgotten color. He’d been confined to the darkness for so long that color itself seemed an abstract concept.

He was beginning to forget, and that terrified him.

He couldn’t let himself forget. Steve. Peggy. Howard. Dum Dum. Jim. Montgomery. Gabriel. Jacques. He wouldn’t forget.

_—_

_1963._

Nothing ever changed. He woke. He travelled. He killed. He slept. From his seat in the plane, he stared down at the world and waited for it to make sense. He sat for hours and waited for the voice inside his head to make sense.

He waited for something that never came.

_—_

_1991._

He had known the man’s name once.

Blood dribbled down his hand, the rifle tearing into his palm, as if his fingers refused to pull the trigger on their own accord. He didn’t blink, though, didn’t look away from the man in the middle of his target cross. He'd known him, once upon a time.

Names hadn't been important for a long while, but for whatever reason it seemed important now. He knew that face, and it tried to reconnect in his brain, but the timeframe he’d been given was so small that he couldn’t linger. He flexed his fingers, then pulled the trigger, once, twice.

He watched the bullet hit both the man’s and the woman's heart, and the car’s tires screeched as it hit the wall of the tunnel head-on. The neck of the man was twisted, and his name had once been important. It had been important for some reason. And now he’d put him there. Now he’d killed him.

His human hand hurt. There was blood on the floor. He had killed him. His name had been important. But he didn’t know why, and he supposed he shouldn’t care.

They told him names were meaningless.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Tony slumped against the sink in front of him. Panting. Exhausted. Desperate for rest.

He had always thought the medical area of Stark Tower to be unnecessarily large, compiled righteously with the stereotypical endless hallways and spacious rooms that were more barren than filled, but now, he was secretly glad that there was enough space to retreat to from all the madness that was Bucky Barnes’ recovery.

It was too much. Barely a few hours had passed since they’d started deactivating the implants, and he was already thinking about giving up.

There were very few things that elluded Tony’s understanding. How HYDRA had managed to wreak that much havoc in one single human brain was beyond him. True to Bruce’s predictions, once an implant was deactivated, the memories seemed to all but flood Barnes’ mind. And ever since, his unconscious body had tensed and shook and bled in random surges. It hadn’t been a pretty sight to begin with, but the last attack had really taken the cake—fuck, the whole goddamn bakery.

Bruce stepped into the doorway, and watched Tony with calm understanding that was unparalleled. “So, that was a bit much.”

Tony bit out an almost hysterical laugh, struggling to keep reign over his own emotions. He stared down at the sink and shook his head. “We can never let Steve see him like that.”

A sigh. “He’s getting better.”

“So you keep saying.”

“And it’s true. We shot down two implants at once. There was no way to know how his brain would react. We knew the memories would cause distress.”

“Looks to me like he would’ve been better off with not knowing,” Tony said quietly.

Bruce closed his eyes briefly and paused to gather his bearings. “He’ll retain his free will. That’s—”

“—a small compensation for losing everything else.” Tony willed himself to a standstill, turning to face Bruce completely for the first time since leaving Barnes’ cell. “What if we’re just handing him an existence that he’s never gonna forgive us for?”

Bruce shook his head with a deep breath. “Not knowing is worse, trust me. Not knowing what you did, whom you might have hurt… that’s always worse.”

Tony made a noncommittal sound, eyes drifting implicitly to Bruce once more.

Bruce shifted, taking off his glasses and rubbing a palm over his forehead. “The human brain isn’t capable of suppressing that many emotions, Tony. It would’ve destroyed him. Maybe not in the next few years, maybe not even in a few decades, but they couldn’t have dragged this out forever. This would’ve happened no matter what, and we’re trying to ease him into it.” He smiled grimly and turned to continue. “There might be a lot of terrible things he’ll see, but neither one of us has the right to take them from him. He needs to grieve, he needs to feel guilt, like every human does.”

Tony cast him a crooked grin. “You know, for two guys who don’t really prioritize ethics, this is a fairly large dilemma.”

Bruce smiled back in that kind way of his, leaning back against the wall. “True. But for what it’s worth, I really think we’re doing the right thing.”

A pause settled between them, heavy and coated with unease. There was no failsafe. No chance to take back what they had started. Eventually, Tony nodded. “Alright, lets take on that last implant.”


	8. Night Companion

**Steve | Bucky**

 

 

The last days had gone by so slowly Steve swore he could feel each damned minute melting into the next. He never really left medical, mostly sleeping in one of the spare beds in the empty examination rooms. With Tony spending hours upon hours in Bucky’s room, there wasn’t really a reason to go back up into the penthouse. So he just sat there, staring at the blackened out glass front, watching Tony and Bruce filter in and out of the room, and each tick of the clock felt like the twist of a knife. One more minute, he thought. One more minute until Bucky would wake up.

He wished he could be in there and just _do_ something—somehow; help in a way that went beyond forcing Tony and Bruce to eat and drink something on a regular basis. Sure, Steve knew that he was in way over his head with all of this, that the science of what HYDRA had done to Bucky’s brain was beyond him. Yet sitting here was literally maddening. He could no longer block the sounds of the damn clock from his consciousness, and soon, he would go out of his mind completely.

The only thing helping him get through the wait was the fact that he wasn’t alone.

Natasha lingered in uneasy silence near the door to Bucky’s room. Steve’s first instinct had been to go and talk to her, share some of this tension. It was what friends did, after all; they’d done it after Steve had woken up from the ice, and many times afterwards. Natasha had been his first friend, she was his family, but the entire situation with Bucky still made him feel incredibly frustrated, and it had left their friendship on shaky ground.

Maybe she wouldn’t want his comfort. Or maybe she didn’t need it.

Still, he had to do _something_. He couldn’t just sit around and stare at her rigid form all day.

“You know…” he started and cleared his throat, “if you want to talk about Bucky… I’d be willing to listen.”

Natasha heaved a small sigh and leaned back against the wall, glancing up at him. “I know,” she said, and after a moment, “I’m sorry.”

Steve must’ve looked as confused as he felt, because instead of maintaining her neutral expression, there was now an amused smile playing with Natasha’s lips.

“I thought you don’t regret it,” Steve said.

“I don’t,” she replied. “But I didn’t mean for you to find out like that. I thought I was protecting you. I only saw all that James had put me through and I didn’t want your life to become like that.”

“But you’re not sorry that you lied to me,” Steve said and it wasn’t a question.

Natasha shook her head. “No. It was arrogant to make that decision for you—I realize that, now. But I still think you were better off not knowing. It wasn’t the right time. You meant too much to me to lose you to a ghost.”

There was a quiet, reflective pause.

“He isn’t a ghost now.”

Natasha smiled—a real smile. Genuine and without an ulterior motive. “No. No, he isn’t.”

Coming to a decision, Steve stood up. There was a long and heavy moment of tense silence between them, before he moved closer. Cautiously, he pushed a hand down on her shoulder, and—with a very soft breath—Natasha made that last step and let him draw her in.

They stayed like that for a long time, with Steve’s arms wrapped tightly around Natasha’s tiny form. Then, her hands were wandering to the top of his head, dragging it down a bit, so her mouth, petal-soft, could press a kiss against his cheek.

“I hurt you,” she told him quietly.

“Yes.”

“You hurt me, too.” Her tone wasn’t accusing or angry, just very, very soft. He gave a slight nod, moving his head as much as her grip would allow. Her gaze was piercing; she only ever looked at him like that when she tried to read him. But there was no ulterior motive now. There was only…

Warmth. And friendship.

And almost as if she read his mind—almost as if to illustrate that point—Natasha brushed a thumb across his cheek, murmuring, while she did so, “Let’s not do that again.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

_2002._

They wandered the dark streets in silence. The girl seemed disinterested in him and in her surroundings. She seemed to have retreated inward, and the only telltale sign that she was agitated at all were her hands ever so often drawing into fists next to her thighs.

She was young; couldn’t be much older than eighteen, and still—she’d been introduced to him as one of the world’s most deadly assassins. He wondered how long she’d been in the business.

He shouldn’t wonder about that.

She led him past the next crossroad, into a back alley that wound behind the theaters and restaurants. Only a handful of people were milling there. They were leaving after some late performance. They giggled and talked amongst themselves even as they scattered into the darkness.

The girl (she had introduced herself as Natalia Romanova) gave him a pointed look before she moved to stalk forward, closing in on their targets. They finished almost in tandem, like they’d done this a Hundred times before, pushing their knives into their target’s throats, rotating them once, before stalking forward.

They kept walking like nothing had happened, and as soon as they were around the next six or seven corners, the girl reached up, and stopped him. She traced the lines of his mouth with a gloved fingertip. The leather was rough, and her touch foreign.

Slowly, the girl leaned into him, brushing her lips back and forth across his own. He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head. When her fingers reached for his fly, unfastening the top button, he shifted away. “Прекрати это.” _Stop it._ He started to move past her, but she shoved him back, pressing his body against the wall of the building behind him. His head throbbed as it cracked into the rough brick, his mouth watering at the unexpected pain.

The girl pressed up against him, held him down with an outrageous amount of strength. Warm lips found his, and she ground down against him, driving his mouth open with the force of her tongue. He couldn’t help but respond; something about her seemed to awaken what little was left of his humanity, buried underneath all that programming.

Without hesitation, she undid the buttons of his trousers, and there was nothing romantic about the fierce coupling that followed. He only pressed her against the wall and took what she offered.

Afterwards, the girl was watching him with a closed-up expression. Whatever agenda she’d had, this had not been the outcome she’d hoped for. She pulled up her pants with clipped movements, and avoided eye-contact. “Я думала, это заставит меня чувствовать себя лучше,” she said, the tone of her voice flat. _I thought this would make me feel better._

He parted his lips to ask her what she meant, and just barely stopped himself before the words left his mouth. He should hold no interest in her; the mission did not require knowing more than the information in her file.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“How was he when…” Steve trailed off, at a loss for words. _How was he when you met him?_ It seemed too personal a question; one Natasha would never answer him anyway.

They were both sitting on the benches in the hallway now. The clock next to Bucky’s room was ticking away, loud and relentless, making it hard to ignore how long Tony and Bruce had been in there by now.

There was a long silence. Steve shook his head at himself. “Sorry… It’s none of my business. I shouldn’t have asked.”

Natasha remained quiet and unmoving. Long minutes went by before she opened her mouth again. “It’s not a nice story,” she said, then added, “But if you really want to know, I will tell you.”

Steve swallowed. Given the opportunity, he felt himself hesitating. He had a vague understanding of Nat’s training. There had been hints, and a few lines in her file, but never a word from Natasha herself. It had never been personal, before.

In the end, though, he found himself nodding.

She exhaled a long breath, and leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees. “He was my mentor. He was… everyone’s mentor. At least to those who’d made it that far. He trained us—me, and the other girls—in combat training, mostly. He…” She took a deep breath. “He used to try to break us.”

Steve looked over at her sharply, but Natasha’s eyes were fixed on her boots, her expression one of vague puzzlement, as though surprised that those words had actually left her lips.

“Back then, in the Red Room, when I was—” She hesitated. “It was just how things were. James wasn’t particularly cruel; he was even… kinder than others, in some ways. He didn’t take pleasure in tormenting us; it was just something he’d been made to believe would make us stronger. Would make us survive.” A sour smile crossed her lips. “Later, of course, he didn’t remember anymore that he’d had part in my training. For all intents and purposes, I was a stranger to him.”

Steve remained silent. He knew better than to ask any questions at this point. This was… already more than he ever, _in a Million years_ , had expected to hear when it came to Natasha’s past. He was aware that Clint probably knew all of it, but that was _Clint_ —and she had never opened up to Steve like this.

“A few years after I’d completed my training, they sent us on missions. He never remembered, and most of the time, I didn’t tell him we met before. I… I was angry that he didn’t remember, after everything he’d put me through. I was angry. I knew it was irrational, but I couldn’t shake it off.” She swallowed, her posture now clearly uncomfortable. “So… I took what I wanted from him. Just like I took everything else, even though it wasn’t something he wanted. He couldn’t enjoy being near people, I think. Not at first. Because he never remembered, and it wasn’t something his programming deemed necessary.”

Steve’s mouth opened and then closed wordlessly as he tried to think of something to say. Was she talking about sex? “You were a different person then,” he settled on eventually, and those were cheap words, he was well aware. “And everybody makes mistakes.”

She laughed without humor. “Not like mine, Steve. I don’t even remember what I thought I’d achieve. What we had… _all_ that we had was cruelty and desperation. And those two were intermingling so often that, eventually, I didn’t even know how to distinguish between them.”

“It’s—” He almost choked on the word. “—understandable that something like this would happen when you’re… close to someone all the time. Bucky’s a good-looking fella, I mean… uh… from an objective point of view. I never…” He heaved a breath and pondered scouring the room for a hole to crawl into. In Tony’s tower, such a thing might be easy to find. “Probably lots of dames would’ve—I mean, if they were in your shoes—”

Oh, _wow_. He had become better at talking about these kinds of things, hadn’t he? Where did all of that stammering come from? Steve clamped his mouth shut and turned his head, wishing he could just make a run for the door and end this. But Natasha was his friend. So he gathered his words and tried again. “You were there for him. That’s what counts.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong. Assuming that I was the good guy in this,” she said with a fond smile. “I wasn’t. I could’ve helped him back then. If I had tried— _really_ tried—to get him to leave with me, join SHIELD together, I might’ve had a chance to stop all of this.”

“You’ve been through a lot,” Steve said after a long moment. “You had every right to focus on your responsibility to yourself. And you did good. You’ve done a lot of good.”

“I’ve done my fair share of bad, too.”

“I think that comes with being human. It’s just the way things are.”

Natasha smiled that neutral smile of hers. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Never losing faith in people. I _lied_ to you. Deliberately. And here you sit, trying to make me feel better about dumping your best friend when he needed me most.”

Steve heaved a heavy breath, leaning his head back against the wall and staring up to the ceiling. “You know… the first thing out of my mouth when I met Buck was a lie,” he said after a moment, and smiled at the puzzled expression on Natasha’s face.

“He came by our apartment and asked me if I was allowed to play tag with him. He probably knew I didn’t go outside much and wanted to make sure he didn’t do anything wrong. I said yes, because Buck was the first one who’d ever asked me to play with him and not just consider me an invalid, so I didn’t tell him I was housebound. An hour later, I had the worst asthma attack of my life, and nearly suffocated to death. My dad gave Buck a mean beating and he didn’t speak to me for three weeks. I also lied to my ma about my chest pains and a dozen other symptoms on a daily basis, because I wanted to be normal, which always ended up making everything so much worse for her. I lied to about sixteen doctors to get into the army before I met Erskine, and I lied to Tony for over half a year when we met…”

A weak smile drew across Steve’s lips. “Don’t make me a saint, Nat. I’ve done my fair share of wrong like everyone else, lying to people’s faces just to get what I wanted—and for entirely selfish reasons. You, on the other hand, lied to me because you thought it was right, and you left Bucky because you had no other choice. Trust me, you don’t need me to make you feel better.”

A pause settled between them. Heavy and coated with regret.

She covered his hand with her own. “Thank you.”

Steve frowned. “For what?”

“For getting him out there. For doing what I couldn’t.” She smiled slightly. “For not listening to me when I told you it was hopeless. For being that stubborn.”

A moment of comfortable stillness. For perhaps the first time, they truly knew each other.

“Any time,” he replied.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 _2006._  

“Wake up, my dear. You’re dreaming.”

He didn’t remember falling asleep, but he must have, for the next thing he knew he was waking up, and it was nearly dawn. The sky above New York was slate, and Natalia was standing by the windows. She was naked, save for his dog tags nestled between her breasts. He couldn’t recall when he’d given them to her, but in any case, it seemed she’d been telling him the truth about their past relationship.

Her face was half in shadow, her eyes trained steadily on him. She was watching him through the glass. He sat up, uneasy with the intensity of Natalia’s stare—the type of intensity that was usually accompanied by heavy words. Slowly, he rose to his feet and walked up to her. Then, he leaned his chest against her back, drawing her near with his arms around her waist. “What is it?”

“Your next cryo will start in two days,” she said, and the soft expression in her eyes seemed to belie the cruelty that had clouded them the night before when they’d taken down some American senator. The contrast was so startling that, at first, he couldn’t wrap his mind around how he hadn’t seen it before.

She’d changed. He knew he couldn’t remember her from before, but some vague feeling had him realize that she had changed.

He closed his eyes, breathing in her scent, willing himself to remember it next time. “I know.”

Natalia’s eyes were unfocused, staring into distance. “We could run away,” she said after a long moment. “Hide somewhere. Live a different life. I know someone who could help us get off their grid.”

“Help,” he echoed, frowning at their naked forms in the glass.

She sighed, and continued to stare out onto the darkened lawn. “There was a situation during your last cryo. I was on a mission in Abidjan, made a wrong move. They could’ve killed me, but—they didn’t. They offered me an out.”

“I can’t,” he said without hesitation.

“Why not?” she asked, and her tone wasn’t loud, nor was it accusatory. “This isn’t right, what they’re doing to you. You know that, right?”

Confused, he shifted his eyes back up to her. “It’s _all_ I know.”

“You know _me_. James, we could—get a clean slate. We could decide what we want to do with it, you just have to—”

“I _can’t._ ”

There was a long silence, and then Natalia asked quietly, “Do you remember how we met?”

“No,” he repeated, puzzled. “You know I don’t. Why are you even asking?”

He could feel her eyes on him through the mirrored glass, but the stare wasn’t intrusive. “The first few times we met, you always used to tell me you were nothing more than a ghost. And for a long time, I thought you were right.” She turned around, then, pressing up against him. “You stopped telling me this years ago, James. And I know you can’t see it, because you don’t remember, but you _change._ You change so much. The fact that we can talk like this, here, right now, is proof enough of that.”

There was the briefest hesitation on his part, and then he amended hoarsely, “I can’t.”

After a moment’s consideration, Natalia dropped her eyes. “And I can’t do _this_ anymore. Not just us, all of this. I need to get out, before there’s nothing of me left.”

He laid his metal hand onto her bowed head and brushed his fingers through her long red hair. “I understand,” he said.

She nodded, and her eyes were glassy when she spoke up again. “Ты даже не будешь помнить, что кого-то не хватает.” _You won’t even remember that there’s someone missing._

He knew she was right. There was always that terrible sense of loss upon awakening, but not much else.

Before he could fully grasp what she was doing—what he was doing—he found himself back in her arms. She was cradling her body against his, and her head was on his shoulder. She was crying, he realized after a moment, and it was the first time he had seen her do that. He could tell by the tension in her body that it made her uneasy. The openness—the way her arms trembled around him. When he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend he could keep her.

“Я буду помнить за нас обоих,” she said, then. It was meant to be soothing, but her voice sounded almost as desperate as he felt. As though it was more a curse than a blessing.

_I’ll remember for the both of us._

 

* * *

 

 

They did not talk about much of anything after that, but the silence was a comfortable one. Steve eyed the door to Bucky’s room. While there was nothing to be seen through the darkened glass, and yet, it felt like the ghostlike aura of the room had somehow spread through the whole hallway. It was disturbing, and he didn’t like it. That Tony hadn’t left Bucky’s room in hours, hadn’t asked for Steve once, didn’t sit well with him.

He turned to Natasha, who was hunched forward, absently flipping through a magazine. “How long has it been?”

“About five hours,” she replied, not looking up.

“Are you sure?” It sure did feel longer.

“Yes.”

Steve slumped back in his chair. “What do you think will happen when he wakes up?”

Natasha shrugged in an attempt at nonchalance. “I don’t know. I know what I would’ve expected from him before, but…” A sigh rumbled through her body. “I suppose that doesn’t matter anymore, does it?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 _2006._  

Time was his worst enemy.

He hadn’t realized it before, had not thought about it much… the missing days, the missing years. That every time they woke him up, life was a new one. He had never cared much for the lost time. He’d witnessed the changing generations, without fully grasping the extent of their change.

So much had happened in the past century: The redefinition of racism; concentration camps for Asians and Jews, genocides in countries so far away that no one cared about. Scientists discovering how little it would take to rip the world apart. He’d seen walls going up and coming down and bore witness to unimaginable human slaughter.

He’d seen it all, not caring very much. He’d watched history unfold, and waited for the next order to arrive, only mildly interested in the disasters human kind wreaked upon itself.

He’d had time. He’d had so much of it.

And now, once again frozen but eerily awake, he had a moment of clarity: He saw himself in the past decades of his life, and realized time had never held meaning to him. Time had been without shape, and he had as much of it as anyone ever would.

He realized he had always been waiting for something that didn’t come—someone to break him free from the prison of his mind. And that someone had been Natalia.

And now she was gone. And distinctly, he knew that he’d forget again. Once they’d free him of the ice, they would make him forget. But now—to see her, all he had to do was close his eyes.

She was preserved there for him—her face, her hair just as he remembered, her green eyes sparkling with the same warmth he’d known in the last days.

All he had to do was close his eyes and he wasn’t alone. She was there. Her memory was the only thing that kept him awake, and so long as he kept repeating her name, they couldn’t make him forget.

_Natalia. Her name is Natalia. Natalia. Natalia. Natalia._

 

* * *

 

 

“So you left KGB, and joined SHIELD, and that was it?”

Natasha leaned back her head against the wall. “No,” she said softly. “Not all of it.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 _2009._  

He stood in the shadows of a birch tree, and watched as the woman got into the scientist’s oldtimer Mustang. She was laughing, and excused herself politely for being late.

He had to give her that: Her act was perfect. She was bubbly and sweet, and pretended to be some famous model from what he could tell. Her body was just the right amount of muscled, but with lots of curves. Her face was mature, her cheekbones well defined, and her eyes long-lashed and very large. There was something world-weary about her expression, and whenever she was alone, her full lips did not smile.

The scientist was _smitten_. No one mistrusted her, and it was easy for her to gain access to all areas every minute of every day.

It didn’t make sense how much energy he poured into outsmarting her. She wasn’t his target. His target was the scientist, some famous nuclear engineer, and he’d followed him all the way from Tehran to Odessa. Thanks to her, it had taken him five whole days of observation before the scientist finally did something unexpected by wanting to drive across the city in his cabriolet.

He grabbed hold of his rifle and pulled himself up the slope. He took a good ten seconds to aim, waiting until the car reached the right height, before he pulled the trigger. The shot echoed along the Potemkin Stairs, and then the bullet burst through the car’s tires. The car veered off course immediately, and skidded sideways, falling off the embankment.

He nodded to the comrade at his side. “Признай их смерть,” he ordered. _Confirm their deaths._

Before his comrade so much as reached the car wreck, the woman leaped forward, trying to throw him off the steep slope next to the stairs with the force of her body. And then, she plunged the knife in her hand neatly into his heart. There was no wasted movement in her kill, and not a moment’s hesitation.

He stepped out of the shadows at that, smiling a little beneath his mask as the woman startled at his approach. She wore a long red skirt that flowed loosely around her legs. The white shirt showed a hint of her breasts. “James?” she asked, eyes growing even larger.

He grabbed for his gun.

“Winter Soldier,” she corrected herself, then whirled suddenly, one skilled foot catching him sharply across the temple. The blow knocked him backwards, and he almost fell down the stairs as he watched her run back to the car. He righted himself at the last moment and darted past her. He tried to catch her, but she was a blur of color, evading his attacks easily. When she finally faced him, the knives in her hand almost found his heart several times, and it was sheer dexterity and his rigorous training that allowed him to duck away in time. She was lissome, and the movements of her assault were delightfully smooth. It was like dancing, she moved like a ballerina, and seemed to anticipate his every move.

Several times her slender legs or those small hands found their mark, and within minutes, he was battered and bleeding. Battered and bleeding, but by no means defeated. He managed several decent blows. One backhand was particularly well executed, and he sent her reeling on the ground right next to the long escarpment. She gasped, slumping on the ground and staying there.

“Audrey?” a voice suddenly rasped, and it came from the car wreck down the slope.

The engineer was still alive.

The woman seemed to realize what was going to happen if she didn’t get up. She fought to her feet, and before he could so much as raise his gun, she rolled away, flipping herself from her back to her feet with almost no effort at all. Then, she threw herself at him.

“תפוס מחסה!” she called to the scientist. _Take cover!_

Flat on his back against the paving stones, her slim body was straddling his waist and a knife pressed into his chest. All this time, he had thought that if—one day—he would reach this position, he would not fight it. He would look death square in the face; he would meet it without fear. And there was no fear. Yet the acceptance of death had left him. It was the thrill of the battle that did it. In the flush of the fight, he had found something to give meaning to his existence, and he didn’t want to surrender that meaning just yet.

Her eyes stared down at him, and she seemed to have found something there that made her pause momentarily. “Tell me my name,” she ordered him with a steely voice, knife pressing down harder.

He smiled. “Audrey,” he said, and for reasons beyond him, he raised a hand and brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “He called you Audrey.”

Their gazes held for what seemed like an excruciatingly long time, hers sad and steady, his full of confusion. She looked away first. “Неправильный ответ.” _Wrong answer._

At that, he bucked beneath her, pulling his knee up underneath her ass so that he could throw her off him. She braced her fall with her hands, pushing herself up almost before she touched the ground, back on her feet in the time it took him to climb to his own.

He staggered upright and watched her race to the car, saying something to his target, and the next moment saw them racing across the grounds. She had a hard time getting the scientist out of his  range, though, the plump man was slowing her down, and the Potemkin Stairs offered no cover.

Standing up, he realized he wouldn’t have been able to defeat her. She had gained the advantage over him, and the only reason he wasn’t dead by now was that she hadn’t wanted to kill him.

How strange.

He raised his rifle, and took a couple of slow breaths to steady his heart rate, waiting until they were both on the right height… then he took the shot. The bullet pierced the woman’s abdomen, then the scientist heart.

_Wake up, my dear. You’re dreaming._

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Darling, he’s awake.”

Steve must’ve fallen asleep at some point—so dazed in his slumber that he almost hadn’t heard Tony. It wasn’t until he stood next to him, with a hand on his shoulder, that the words registered in Steve’s brain. When they did, though, he almost jumped off the chair. He opened his eyes and glanced down on the empty seat next to him.

Natasha was no longer there. “Where’s Nat?”

Tony cleared his throat uneasily. “She left. Said she needed some sleep, but I figure she wants a bit more time.”

Steve’s brow furrowed, but eventually, he nodded and made to stand up. “He woke up?”

Tony squeezed Steve’s hand. “Yeah. You all right?”

“Yeah,” he said, stalling. “Nervous,” he added then, honestly.

Tony smiled and leaned up to place a soft kiss on Steve’s forehead. “Look, he just woke up. It would probably be better if you waited a bit, but—”

“No, I—”

“Yeah, you won’t. I know. I’m just saying: Don’t expect too much too soon, alright?”

Steve nodded and furrowed his brows, when he noticed the dark circles framing Tony’s eyes, the tired expression, the rumpled clothes. He wrapped his arms around Tony’s body and held him close in a tight embrace. His hands slipped underneath the tail of his shirt, slid them along the smooth skin of his back, rubbing the surely sore muscles there.

“Ugh, don’t touch me,” Tony complained, drawing back a little. “I’m gross.”

“Don’t care,” Steve said and pressed a firm kiss into Tony’s damp hair. Then, he pulled him back against his chest, sweat and all. “Thank you.”

It wasn’t enough, of course. Not nearly enough for what Tony—and Bruce—had done in those last days. But there was a cloud hanging above Steve’s head, obscuring his thoughts, and for now, he couldn’t think of anything other than seeing Bucky again.

Tony seemed to know that, too, and tugged on Steve hand gently. “Come on.”

The sight that greeted Steve when he summoned up the courage to face the room was enough to break the strongest of wills. Bucky was on his knees staring at the abandoned bed in front of him. He was still only wearing pants, his hair hanging messily over his face. He wasn’t moving, wasn’t breathing. For all intents and purposes, he might as well have been a statue. A stone figure reduced to his knees through his distress. Not an inch of his body flickered in recognition; nothing betrayed his knowledge of Steve being there.

He wanted to go to him, but the fear was too strong. The fear that Bucky would look Steve in the eyes and that everything they had shared with each other throughout their lives would still mean nothing to him.

Bruce was leaning against the wall next to Bucky. He looked just as tired as Tony, his posture hunched, but his voice remained calm and steady as he spoke. “James Barnes?”

The air could not have been heavier. Silence stretched between them. Bucky made no move to even acknowledge that he had heard Bruce speak.

Bruce drew in a breath, waited for a minute, then tried again, “Sergeant?”

Nothing. Steve drew in an unnecessary breath, hardly aware of the moisture clouding his eyes. The tension wrought in his body tightened rather than released.

That was it, then. With a deep breath meant to support his confidence, Steve clenched his hands to fists and walked forward.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_Post Awakening: Day 1_

This wasn’t right. He wasn’t supposed to be here.

He was supposed to be dead. Why wasn’t he dead?

Everything after his last cryo was a blur. He remembered punching Steve’s face, but he didn’t know if he had killed him. It was possible. Things had been fast and violent. He suspected he would remember it had he killed Steve, but right now he was too foregone to register anything he felt.

The intensity of the lights around him left his retinas throbbing, black spots peppering his vision like falling snow. He clamped his eyes shut and, clutching the edges of the hard-packed cot in front of him, waited for the world to stop spinning.

The air around him was filled with noise, but he could not discern one sound from another.  For some reason, he was surprised that—when he looked down on himself—there was no blood on his hands. His brain hummed; opening up to all sorts of memories, and his jaw couldn’t seem to unclench. His metal hand flexed, opening and closing in a phantom movement of him hitting Steve’s face over and over again. He remembered the day on SHIELD’s Helicarrier well enough, and he could still feel Steve’s cheekbones breaking.

Physical pain would have been welcome right now; it would have taken his mind off the aching in his head. And from far back in his memory, he remembered that acting against the rules had always been followed by endless amounts of pain. And now, he found himself cheated out of that half-desired punishment.

Without really knowing what he was doing, his metal hand grabbed for his human arm, digging the hard fingers into his skin until it broke and started bleeding.

The voices around him were yelling now. With tangible relief, he realized one of the voices belonged to Steve, and while hands pulled him back down on the cot, restraining him with some shackles, he pressed his eyes closed.

For a long time, it was as though time slowed to a crawl. He could feel things happening around him—vague, unseen movements and sounds he could not fully comprehend. He was awake, and then he was not. And every time he woke up after that, new memories had returned to him. And as if in a dream, he heard people coming in and out of the room, asking him questions like ‘How are you’—something he had not needed to answer for a long time.

How was he? He just… was. There was no ‘how’ to answer.

How are you. Snap out of it. Your name is ‘Bucky’. James Barnes. Sergeant. The rapid-fire interrogation made his head ache, and it only served to confuse him more.

 _Bucky._ He knew who Bucky Barnes was.

And it wasn’t him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [Gyuuki](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Gyuuki/pseuds/Gyuuki) for translating the dialogue parts into Russian for me <3


	9. A Distant Chord

**Tony | Bucky**

 

_Post Awakening: Day 7_

His eyes had been sealed shut for days. When people came into the room, he heard them but didn’t watch. He knew the voices all belonged to Steve’s team, and was able to identify each of them without much struggle. Sometimes it would take a few minutes to drag the face matching the voice out of his exhausted mind, but in the end, he remembered.

It was only one face that remained hazy. He recalled red hair, but couldn’t piece together the right set of eyes and nose in a manner that struck him as accurate.

He had no conception of how much time had passed since he’d fought Steve on the Helicarrier, or how long they had kept him in this cell afterwards. The only thing he knew was that they had done something to him. There were memories now, and they were _always_ there, and he knew with a deep certainty that he wouldn’t be freed of them ever again.

He had killed so _many_. He saw things he forgot had happened… Like a door unlocking in his mind: torture, slaughter, and training others in their use. So much _horror_. He woke up vomiting more times than he could recall. And he didn’t feel better afterwards.

He’d known all kinds of pain in his life: burnings, stabbings and bullet holes. Even the worst of wounds faded after a while—and he’d been taught that pain was fleeting. Always fleeting. And once his body was frozen, he would forget. He would move on.

He wouldn’t be moving on from this.

“Good morning, Red October,” a voice said, as a man walked into the room. It was Stark. Howard’s boy.

_You again,_ he replied in his mind—in the only way he could—trying to lift his hands and straining against the shackles around his wrists for a moment, before slumping back down on the cot. He never saw where the shackles had come from, they had to be somewhere in the bedframe, and every time Stark entered the room, he was restrained.

A soft sigh rolled through his mind and he turned his attention inward. He knew what was coming now. Stark was always talking when he came here. He blabbered incessantly and didn’t seem to realize when his audience had drifted off to a better place.

“Good seeing you, too,” Stark continued, his voice moving forward. “Missed me?”

_Fuck off._

“That much? Aw, I knew you secretly liked me,” he said, then gave a low chuckle at his own joke.

A moment later, someone else trailed into the room.

“The new MRI looks good,” he said—and that was… _Doctor Banner._ “The implants left no permanent damage as far as I can see.”

Stark hummed, satisfied. “See, Frosty? You might actually walk away from all the shit they put in your brain.”

He didn’t answer. There was nothing to answer. It wasn’t the first time the two men talked about some implants in his brain, and sometimes, when he woke up, there was a distinct pressure on his skull. He tried not to think too much about it. He couldn’t afford to worry about crossing that bridge when he was still on this one.

He heaved a deep breath and opened his eyes. It took a moment to get used to the bright lights, then he looked over to where Stark and Banner were standing.

“Look,” Banner said, staring straight at him.

“Oh, he’s gracing us with his attention,” Stark announced with a hand over his heart. He made a few steps towards the cot, considering him. “I’m Tony Stark, this is Bruce Banner. Do you know where you are? Can you say anything? Hearing myself talk is getting a bit boring.”

_Yeah, right,_ he wanted to say.

Banner took his glasses off his nose and looked down at some sort of chart. “Mmm,” he hummed, furrowing his brows.

“Anything unusual?”

“No. Not at all. Seems like he really pushed through,” Banner replied thoughtfully.

Stark nodded and there was visible relief on his face. “Good work, Brucie.”

Banner glanced up at him. “He should be able to talk, though… I don’t know what’s keeping him.”

“Honestly, I think he’s just playing hard to get.”

“Steve’s been wanting to talk to you,” Stark said after a moment. The words were soft—and so incredibly humble it didn’t seem possible they had come out of Stark’s mouth.

Although he didn’t want to look right at him, he couldn’t quite keep his eyes from turning back to where Stark stood staring down at him.

“No,” he said, surprising himself as the word actually _left_ his lips.

Both men raised their eyebrows in tandem. “No?” Stark echoed, frowning down at him. “Why not?”

At that, he just closed his eyes again, which took almost as much effort as opening them had. He turned away as much as he could with the shackles around his wrists. Just the idea of seeing Steve, of looking into his eyes, of facing the sympathy there, the understanding, he couldn’t…

Steve would forgive him. And he wasn’t ready for that.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Tony handed Steve his tablet with the newest data on Barnes’ progress and leaned forward to look through the window into his cell. Barnes was asleep. Or pretending to do so, at least. With Barnes, it was nearly impossible to tell the two apart—even though Bruce was both monitoring his heart rate and his breathing.

“How was he today?” he asked Steve quietly.

Steve shrugged. There was a light stubble on his cheeks by now, and he looked as tired as Steve was able to. “Better, I think. Moving around a bit more. No new panic attacks.”

“Good.” Tony followed his gaze up past the space of the window. “Did he acknowledge you?”

A deep sigh, and that was answer enough. Steve shook his head anyway. “I think he knows I’m here, but… he ignores me.” He took a deep, shaky breath, staring down on the tabled. “Any more news on SHIELD?” he asked after a moment.

Tony nodded thoughtfully. “Phil’s doing his best to deal with the mess, but not everyone accepts his authority. And he can’t help much when it comes to dealing with the committee… I think he needs to operate from the shadows right now. The government’s still debating about initiating a police force to capture the remaining SHIELD agents.”

“And?” Steve asked with a frown.

Tony sighed and rubbed his forehead. “For now, there’s nothing we can do. Maria and I have been trying to establish the Avengers as an official defense institution, but it’s just… they’re really making it fucking difficult.”

Steve hummed and cast him a sympathetic look. “Did you expect anything else?”

“No, of course not,” Tony said. There was a longer pause, as Tony searched for the right words for what he had to tell Steve next. “They’re making progress on the investigation into HYDRA. There’s… more evidence coming through. Seems they’ll investigate on the Avengers’ actions during the events in DC, but Maria thinks we’re on the safe side here. And…” He hesitated, watching Steve warily. “…the Winter Soldier has been charged with murder. If they find out who he is… Bucky will have to go through trial.”

“And he’d lose,” Steve said as his eyes travelled back to Bucky’s sleeping form. His voice was hard.

Tony sighed. Nodded. “And he’d lose.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

_Post Awakening: Day 14_

There were hushed voices in front of his cell, and if he’d open his eyes, he would probably see Steve pacing back and forth along the large window front.

The other voice belonged to Stark.

“He just doesn’t want to let you down.”

“You said he was talking to you and Bruce. I don’t see why he wouldn’t want me to—”

“He doesn’t have to explain himself to us, that’s why. We’re strangers. You’re his best friend. It’s just easier for now. You need to respect that.”

“He wouldn’t let me down, it’s not… Christ, I don’t expect him to be _okay_ just like that. I only want to help him.”

“I _know_ that,” Stark said. “Believe me, I do. And I understand that the waiting is killing you, but if your presence will trigger him again, it will only be harder. His brain needs more time to adjust to the absence of barriers. You really need to trust me on this.”

Steve was quiet for a long moment and he could almost feel the heat of Steve’s eyes burning into his back, and made himself lie very still. He remembered exactly how Steve’s mind worked and therefore he knew that—whatever Steve would say now—he was probably already thinking of a way around the rules.

The goddamn punk always did.

“You’re right,” Steve conceded. “I’ll give him space.”

“Good,” Stark replied with an uncharacteristically gentle tone. He seemed to cross the hallway, the soft sounds of shoes hitting the marble floor echoed through the vast space. While he could still hear them breathing, they were otherwise completely quiet.

His ears strained through the silence, barely catching the faint sounds of their movements. And for the first time in days, something akin to curiosity welled up in his mind. There was an itch to see, but before he could reach a decision, Stark was talking again.

“I need to be in Washington tomorrow. The meetings will take a few days, a week tops. Think I’m gonna take a hotel.”

“I…” Steve took a long breath. “You know I can’t leave now… Not when he’s still so unstable.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Nah,” Stark replied, but the matter-of-fact tone was obviously faked. “Don’t be. I’m getting used to it.”

“That’s not fair,” Steve replied, this voice subdued.

There was a pause. Then, Stark heaved a long sigh. “No. It isn’t. Sorry. I didn’t mean to… Sorry. I’m just sick of all this.”

“It’s only temporary,” Steve said. “I promise.”

Stark hummed, but didn’t say anything further. As they walked away, he opened his eyes after all and got a last glimpse of Steve pulling Stark against his side before they rounded the next corner.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The next day, Tony was making a weary trek through the empty hotel suite. There wasn’t a chance he could get any sleep like this. Part of him had been hoping for Steve to come with him to Washington, but he didn’t seem able to just leave Barnes’ side, and Tony wasn’t going to put him on the spot by asking.

Their endless sessions of deactivating Barnes’ mental implants were finally over—and whatever Barnes was doing from here on, it was his own doing. That, however, didn’t stop Steve from guarding him like a watch dog, doing the majority of the surveillance without complaint.

Steve didn’t go into Barnes’ room. Not anymore. He’d tried a few times, in the beginning—had tried to talk to him, but Barnes hadn’t reacted well to his visits, either ignoring him completely, or showing severe signs of anxiety until Steve would eventually leave and let Bruce deal with the aftermath.

Before falling in love with Steve, Tony had never spent more than a few minutes worrying extendedly about anything or anyone. Everything had either fallen at a general give-or-take level of acceptance, or he’d simply changed whatever he hadn’t liked. Now, though, he could worry for hours and it still wasn’t enough.

Deep in thought, Tony lay back down on the king sized bed. He’d made it a point not to have Extremis monitor Steve’s every step and he wouldn’t start doing so now. However, he wondered if he’d made a mistake by distancing himself like this. Maybe he should’ve stayed at Steve’s side for all of it, damn all the Committee meetings to hell. Maybe Steve needed his support more than he needed space.

Every time Barnes rejected Steve’s presence, Steve would get this haunted look, and Tony didn’t know how to help him. It frightened him, seeing Steve come unglued like that, and although he didn’t break down, Tony could sense he wasn’t far from it.

He closed his eyes, reaching out to Extremis. After a few seconds of zapping through the tower’s security cameras, he located Steve. He was asleep, though not on the bench in front of Barnes’ room, as Tony had expected, but in the workshop of all places. He was curled up on the sofa at the far corner of the room, and Tony frowned when he spotted DUM-E next to him, making low but regular whirring noises.

_JARVIS?_ Tony prompted.

_Steve asked for some familiar sounds to help him fall asleep, sir,_ JARVIS replied. _We were happy to indulge him. Should I alert him of your presence?_

_No,_ Tony said, smiling fondly as he reached out in his mind. On a second thought, he took control of both DUM-E’s claw and camera, lowering the first until he was brushing cautiously along Steve’s forehead. Steve’s nose wrinkled slightly, but after a moment, he was leaning into the touch. Low murmurs left his lips, as he settled into the cushions more firmly, and Tony was almost sure he’d heard his name somewhere in-between.

Tony didn’t know how long he stayed like that, lying on the empty hotel bed and staring at Steve’s sleeping form, until exhaustion finally worked its way through him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_Post Awakening: Day 21_

As expected, every time he opened his eyes now, Steve came into view. It had started a few days ago. Steve just sat there on one of the benches, all goddamn day. Sometimes he’d bring a book, or warm his hands on some steaming cup, while talking to one of his team members. Mostly, though, Steve stared at him.

With as much time as Doctor Banner and Stark had spent with him in the past few weeks, a basic understanding of human emotions had forced itself back into his mind. And every time he opened his eyes and glanced through the window, he knew exactly what went through Steve’s head. Steve had always been horrible at waiting on the sidelines while there was a job to be done. He never had been a patient guy, always too insistent and head-strong for his own good.

As memories of their childhood flooded his mind, memories of laughter, whispered promises and shared sorrow, a sharp pain jittered up his spine. His brain was too clogged with the barriers of self-loathing. He shouldn’t be allowed good memories. He’d taken life after life, and with perfect indifference in his heart. So many men, women, even children. He remembered shooting Howard and his wife like it had meant nothing to him. Remembered what it had felt like to pull the trigger with perfect clarity. And while those memories ripped him apart, at least he deserved them.

He didn’t deserve to remember being Steve’s friend.

His lungs constricted and he grasped at his own shirt, vision blurring with sudden tears as seizures took hold of his body. He felt he was bleeding from the inside, but death wouldn’t come. It had already been given to him, numerous times, but never peace, never rest, everything always started over and over again. A few seconds passed before he made the first fruitless attempt to sit up, a few more before the second, and he almost collapsed with the need to breathe.

“Bucky!”

He heard Steve calling for him, and a moment later, the door to his cell opened, and Steve was crouching on the bed next to him. There was some sort of alarm blaring, as Steve’s hands pulled him upwards into a sitting position, his back pressed against Steve’s chest.

“You need to breathe with me. Come on, Buck, I know you can do it.”

The words only made him trash harder. He pushed against Steve without reservation as moans of pain tore out of his mouth. He wanted to scream. Long, agonized screams for all the ones he’d killed. Screams for a never-ending assault of darkness where he would never be heard, much less saved. A war raged within him and he didn’t know how long he fought against Steve’s grip.

“Let me go!” he grunted, pushing back so hard that he and Steve both tumbled off the bed and against the wall behind them.

He couldn’t shake off the memories. All those dead people—all the blood on his hands. Something inside him was broken and couldn’t be repaired. He had never known remorse or guilt before. And that was the way it was—the way he’d accepted it. The Winter Solider was never meant to bear a conscience, and having all of his memories combined with this new perception of right and wrong—it was tearing him apart.

He released a choked sob, tossing against Steve’s arms in a fruitless attempt to break free, before a gentle female voice had him frozen.

“Джеймс. Дыши.” _James. Breathe._

James. Only one person had ever called him by his birth name. And with that, he suddenly remembered the face that had been missing all along.

_Natalia._

It felt like years had passed since he’d last said or even thought her name, seen her face, or watched her from afar. He didn’t know how he could have forgotten her, how he could have lost something so essential. And now—now that he remembered—he wanted to spend hours reciting her name.

Even if he forgot who James Barnes was, he would never forget Natalia Romanova ever again.

“Много времени прошло,” she said, suddenly right in front of him. _It’s been a while._

God, she was even more beautiful than he remembered. And then her hand on his neck, kneading the skin there. He fought the instinct to pull away. It had been years since he’d felt a gentle caress, and it made him uneasy to have someone touch him like that. But when he looked into Natalia’s eyes, he saw profound understanding there. His muscles relaxed, and his head dropped onto Steve’s shoulder in defeat.

“Я убил стольких,” he whispered. _I killed so many._

His voice was raw, nearly torn, and tears flooded over his eyes. He let himself cry, uncaring if Natalia comforted him or not. Forgave him or not. Killed him or not. She had always been his way to peace, one way or another.

“Теперь всё кончено,” she murmured. “Больше никто не будет за тебя решать.” _It’s all over now. No one’s going to decide for you ever again._

Her voice was so soothing. He could almost believe her words. He was quivering and lost as he looked up at Natalia, losing himself in her familiar steely-green eyes. “Так не должно было случиться,” he said brokenly. _It’s not supposed to be like this._

There was softness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. “Нет,” she disagreed with a gentle tone. “Всё именно так, как и должно быть.” _No. This is exactly how it's supposed to be like._

 

 

* * *

 

 

A loud buzzing penetrated Tony’s sleep. He opened one bleary eye, saw 6:32 AM flashing on the alarm clock and slammed one hand down to stop the noise. The buzzing continued— _Shit, not the alarm, someone’s calling_. He almost yelled for JARVIS to tell whoever was calling to go fuck himself and then remembered: The Congress was meeting today. Shit, he was supposed to be back in DC by noon.

The last days had been a continuous back and forth between New York and Washington, and he barely had time to unpack before he had to be on a plane again.

He opened both eyes and grimly noticed the unslept-in side of the bed. Steve hadn’t made it upstairs for two full weeks now. Tony rolled around, though kept his fist coiled in a steadfast grip for long seconds. Every inch of willpower tingled on its last nerve; he was so fucking sick of waking up alone.

Then he sighed and rebuked himself. He was being pathetic and whiny. Mostly because he hadn’t even _seen_ Steve in days. He suddenly wondered when they’d last kissed, and came up empty.

He tried very hard not to think about the last time they had had sex.

The buzzing continued unabated. Jesus, his head hurt. He groaned out loud, stood up very carefully and looked around for his pants.

Mentally, he answered the call, tracing it with Extremis before the line was even up. “I didn’t forget about the meeting, Maria.”

“There’s a problem,” she said without preamble.

Tony sighed, rubbing his temples with one hand. “That line is getting old. A problem that’s going to cost us the case?”

There was a heavy pause. “They found out about Barnes’ identity. They’re broadcasting it as we speak.”

“Shit.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

He walked over to the closet, picking one of his fancier suits, since he already knew where this was going. Meanwhile, JARVIS provided him with the recent news feeds. Almost every channel was reporting about ‘The Winter Soldier Unmasked’, using photos and videos of Barnes’ past. Half of them were showing him at Steve’s side.

Shit. Shit. Shit. _Shit_.

“You need to be back in DC in three hours, Tony,” Maria said, as Tony made his way to the living room. “They want a statement from you. Personally. We can’t hold them off any longer. If it weren’t for Coulson they’d already be at the tower. I called someone to help you. Please don’t be late.” The line went dead.

The next second, the door to the penthouse flew open and Pepper walked in, impeccably dressed in vintage Chanel. She gave the room a once-over and shuddered. “God, Tony, this place is a pigpen.” Making an executive decision, she snapped open her cell phone and punched in a number. “Happy? I need a cleaning service over here. Offer to pay them double their rate if they can do it today.” Her eyes flicked over to a plate of Spaghetti spilled all over the floor. “And get a cleaning service that specializes in Macassar ebony. Thanks.”

Tony cast her a small smile, before the phone buzzed again in his mind, causing him to visibly flinch. “What?” he snapped, answering it on the first ring.

“Make it two,” Maria said. “And look at your mails, for god’s sake. We’ll offer the Committee to make Barnes a member of the Avengers. If he’s under your roof, with your network of top lawyers at his back, he might actually have a shot.”

“An _Avenger_ ,” Tony echoed, disbelieving. “He doesn’t even _talk_ to us. What the hell makes you think he’d sign a contract?”

“Coulson’s idea,” Maria explained.

Tony sighed. “Of course. The damn optimist.”

“Just get here. We’ll see if they even accept the offer, and then we can figure out how to convince Barnes.”

“We could always fake his signature,” Tony said, only half-joking.

Maria huffed a breath. “See? We already have a Plan B.”

As Tony ended the call, Pepper took him by the hand and steered him toward the kitchen island. “Come on, you need coffee, lots and lots of coffee.” She refrained from mentioning that Tony also needed a good meal, a haircut, a shave and deodorant.

Because Pepper was awesome like that.

Her nose scrunched up in disgust as she took in the mess he’d made on the kitchen counter. “How did you even survive without Steve all these years?”

“I had you,” he offered, as Pepper pressed a few buttons on the coffee machine. “And two cleaning crews.”

Her face flickered between incredulity and amusement. “True.”

While Tony drank his coffee, Pepper fetched a brush, a razor, and several bottles of whatever beauty product she deemed necessary and went to work.

It turned out an hour was only just about enough time for her to prepare Tony before he had to take off to Washington. He was steamed, plucked and primped. It had been years since she’d done this for him, and Tony felt a familiar warmth spread through him. “Thank you,” he told her quietly as he fastened his tie.

He probably looked uneasy, and Pepper’s sharp eyes noticed it immediately. “Have you been alone long?”

“Not long,” he replied. “Just… frequently. Steve’s really busy.”

“I can imagine.” Pepper sighed, and her big green eyes suddenly became plaintive, looking at him. “Does he even know what you’re doing here? I’ve seen your schedule. You must be exhausted.”

Tony sighed, tilting his head back. “No,” he said. “And he doesn’t need to. No reason to put this on him, too. Barnes… it’s eating him up. Barnes won’t talk to him, or acknowledge him. It’s… I just need to give Barnes the chance to get his head out of his ass. For Steve’s sake.”

“Oh, Tony.”

Tony snorted, because those two words really only sounded right when Pepper said them. “I’m just doing this to make Steve happy. Which will make me happy. Don’t make me out to be the hero in this. I’m really not.”

A fond smile twitched at the corners of her lips. “You wouldn’t have minded once.”

“Things change. People, too.”

“I know,” Pepper said, her hand touching his arm, and kissed his cheek lightly. “Believe me, I know.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

_Post Awakening: Day 28_

The door opened. And seconds later, he heard her voice.

“Джеймс?” _James?_

That voice. He’d once followed it over continents and oceans. After all, its owner had once been his world, his whole universe, and his reason for living. And he remembered now. Remembered everything. All those loose ends finally coming together. Every time he’d been awoken, every time he’d gotten to know her, relearned her body, fell in love with her over and over again.

He turned slowly, looking up. She raised a tentative hand to caress his cheek. The feel of her skin against his after such a long time made his insides sing. It was the first time in years that someone touched him without inspiring hate or revulsion.

“Ты знаешь, ктоя?” she asked softly. _Do you know who I am?_ There was the slightest tremor in her voice; one more thing that was so clearly different about her.

He didn’t hesitate, though. He needed to say her name as much as he needed to breathe. “Наталия.” _Natalia._

She lowered her eyes for a second, took a breath, and looked back at him with a smile. “It’s Natasha, these days.”

He nodded, fighting sudden exhaustion as he placed his hand over hers.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Tony didn’t think he’d ever been so tired in his life. And that was really saying something.

The emotional turmoil of Barnes’ recovery would have been enough, but couple that with nearly sixteen hours in a plane, a four hour meeting, then adding in the fact that he hadn’t slept for give or take fifty-five hours, Tony counted himself lucky he was still standing at all.

After yet another hearing in DC about Barnes’ involvement with HYDRA, he’d taken the suit, flew halfway round the globe to Moscow just to retrieve some old files, and came right back to New York. And now, instead of getting some much needed rest, he needed Barnes to sign the damn Avengers contract, or the guy would likely go to prison very fucking soon.

This was getting ridiculous.

Wincing a bit at the stiffness in his muscles, Tony rubbed a hand over his face. He walked down the hallway leading to Barnes’ cell, glancing into the examination rooms as he went. They were all empty. Of course the one time Tony had to come down here was the day Steve decided to actually sleep in their bed.

He wanted nothing more than to go upstairs and curl himself up in Steve’s embrace, but there were things to do, and they couldn’t wait. Better to get it done with now. Maria expected his confirmation that Barnes was on board with the whole thing like yesterday. While he walked, Tony logged into the inbox of his cell phone via Extremis and groaned when it flashed ‘You have six messages’ at him. No doubt every last one was from some congressman. Giving in to the unavoidable, Tony hit play, closed his eyes and listened while several people ranted at him.

When Tony sat down on the bench in front of Barnes’ room, the man in question was sitting on his bed with open eyes. His face didn’t have that empty, numb expression anymore. Instead, he was looking at Tony with a look that was half annoyance and half curiosity.

It had begun a few days ago: the changes. Changes in Barnes’ behavior that had been small enough that they first escaped Bruce’s notice before slowly compiling in severity. He was talking more, mostly to Natasha, but even so: He was talking. He ate regularly, accepted new clothes, and the panic attacks came less frequently. The baby steps were over, obviously, and Tony figured that Barnes finally returned to something close to whoever he’d been before.

Still, it might not be enough for what Tony was about to ask of him. Silence settled between them—silence between two people who had no reason to greet each other with anything resembling amiability. Tony didn’t know Bucky Barnes aside from the stories Steve had told him over the last couple of years. He did, however, still remember the tangible pain in his abdomen where Barnes had stabbed him.

It wasn’t like he owed that man anything. He was only doing this for Steve.

Tony took a deep breath. “We need to talk.”

“Этовпервые,” Barnes muttered. “Обычно тебе достаточно послушать самого себя.” _That’s a first. Usually it’s enough for you to listen to yourself talking._

“Yeah, whatever,” Tony said on an annoyed breath. Russian wasn’t exactly his forte, and he only caught on a few words. Still, he was almost relieved that Barnes was talking to him at all—and in full sentences.

“I have business we both have to deal with.”

“Business,” Barnes repeated with a puzzled frown, like the word wasn’t even part of his vocabulary.

“It’s about your affiliation with the Avengers Initiative,” Tony explained. “Not sure if you know about our—”

“I do,” Barnes said and something dark flickered in his eyes. “I’m not interested.”

Tony stopped himself from rolling his eyes. Despite the fact that he _needed_ Barnes to sign the damn contract, he would never allow himself to forget that this was the same man who had almost killed Steve, who _had_ apparently killed his parents. He refused to go out of the way to get on Barnes’ good side. Either Barnes took what he offered him, or he didn’t. Easy as that.

“No interested,” Tony echoed. “You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

There was a tightening of Barnes’ jaw, but he did not offer any further reaction. Instead he turned around, ignoring Tony completely.

Tony took a low breath. There was a reason he’d never wanted kids.

_Patience, thy name is not Tony._

“What? That’s it?” Tony asked. “You ever heard of the term ‘diplomacy’? Comes right before ‘disputability’. Any of those ringing a bell?”

No reaction. Barnes only lowered his gaze to the floor. His metal hand kept clenching and unclenching, but Tony refused to back down on this. At the end of the day, this was a room that had been designed to keep the Hulk at bay. When it came down to it, Tony knew Barnes couldn’t lay a finger on him.

“I’m trying to do you a favor here,” he said with a slightly gentler tone. “And by doing so, I’m taking a lot on faith. The least you could do is hear me out.”

There was a sigh of concession. “Fine. What ‘business’?”

“Huh,” Tony offered, leaning back on the chair. “That was easier than I expected.”

At that, Barnes turned back around and scowled at him. “Nat said it’s easier to give up than try to argue with you.”

“You’ve given up? Already?” Tony flashed a wide grin. “But it’s so early in the game, Buck-o.”

“I’m not playing your games.”

Right. That was definitively a three year old determined to get the last word.

“Alright. Business,” Tony announced with a tight smile. “I’m sure you realize that there are a lot of people out to get their hands on you. And I need you to become part of our team so I can stop that from happening.”

There. Easy words. Words even Barnes should be able to understand.

Barnes’ gaze narrowed, and Tony felt his patience beginning to ebb. “Look, I get it,” hecontinued. “You don’t care—about any of this. Can’t say that surprises me. But—”

“I never asked you to do anything for me.”

“If I stop, they’ll take you away from here. Put you in a cell until your dying day. Or worse.”

Barnes licked his lips and looked sideways. “Let them.”

“Yeah? Really?” Tony asked, huffing. “It’s all so fucking easy for you, is it? You don’t give a shit that it would break Steve’s heart if they put you in prison after everything—”

“Steve never should’ve known about me!” Barnes snapped, and Tony saw the metal hand flexing at his side again. “It would’ve been better if I just—”

“What?” Tony interjected, only barely refraining from screaming. “If you stayed with HYDRA? If you died? You’re here now, so I suggest you to start dealing with it. Everyone else might treat you like a delicate little flower, because you’re _in so much pain_ , but you know what, Barnes? Other people had a shitty life, too. We’re all broken in some way or the other. Clint was mind-controlled, and forced to kill dozens of his colleagues. Bruce lost every single thing he ever loved—his girl, his family, his career, _everything_. Nat—well, I have no fucking clue what they did to Natasha, but you probably do and I’m guessing she won the worst-childhood-lottery. And _Steve_ …” he said, and yup, he was almost yelling at Barnes now, however the fuck that had happened. “Steve was willing to _die_ to bring you back. So don’t you dare dismissing that, Buck-o, because then you and I, we’re gonna have a problem.”

Tony stood up and stepped forward, slamming the contract against the glass front. “Just fucking read this, alright? It might not mean anything to you, but it will help us. Make things easier, while we try to save your sorry undeserving ass.”

There was a long pause. When Barnes looked up, his eyes were dark but not accusing. “You want me on Steve’s team.” Barnes fidgeted slightly. “Why?”

Tony blinked. Well, that was progress.

“As I said, there’s a lot of people dying to get their hands on you. And this—” He pointed to the stack of papers. “—will tell them that you’re our problem to deal with. It will keep a bazillion federal institutions off our backs. The Avengers don’t have a white card for everything, but we have certain perks when it comes to explaining ourselves and our actions. And trust me when I tell you… you need those perks. _I_ need you to have those perks. Because what HYDRA did to you will not be something a duty solicitor will be able to explain to a Committee. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

There was a flicker of confusion on Barnes’ face, before it was replaced with his standard unimpressed-slash-blank expression. “There was a point to your rambling?”

Tony sighed heavily, wishing—not for the first time in those last days—for a nice glass of Scotch. He was so fucking done with all of this.

“I begin to see where you and Steve would’ve been besties,” he mumbled, before standing up and walking to the window front of Barnes’ cell. “Look, if you sign this, you’re an official member of the Avengers Initiative and whatever the US decides to accuse you with, I’ll be able to answer for you. I can use my lawyers to present your cause, and the other Avengers can testify for you.” He put the stack of papers in the pass-through, pushing it forward. “Just think of it as an insurance. It doesn’t have to be more than that.”

Barnes favored him with a weary glance, before turning his eyes to the contract with undisguised confusion. “Nat signed the same thing?”

It was almost cute to how much Barnes depended on Natasha already. He’d watched the two of them interact, had watched the progress Barnes had made with her at his side. But Tony had a feeling it was better not to call him up on it. “She was the third one after me and Steve, yes.”

“I’ll think about it,” Barnes conceded eventually.

Well, it was a start.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_Post Awakening: Day 31_

Natasha was watching him with that calm understanding in her eyes that he did not deserve. She sat on the chair next to his bed, her naked feet both deposited on his bed frame.

He was quiet for a long minute, then placed his human hand on Stark’s contract. “Я не знаю, что делать.” _I don’t know what to do._

“You don’t have to,” she said, calmly. “It’s okay not to know everything right away. You will figure it out with time. I did, and so will you.”

He paused. “You did.”

“Yes. It’s easier with people around you. I never thought… but, yes, it’s easier.”

“I don’t deserve to be in Steve’s team.”

“And I do?” Natasha asked with a very serious tone. “Tony, Bruce, Clint… _trust_ me, we all don’t deserve to be around people like Steve. Thor is probably the only exception, but—at the end of the day, we all have a lot of blood on our hands. Even Steve. And… we’re all lost. That’s what brought us together, and that’s what’s keeping us together. This team, we’re… we’re helping each other. We… care for each other.” She paused and shook her head like she almost couldn’t believe her own words. “It’s worth it, you can trust me on that. It’s worth giving it a try.”

She glanced to the pillow on his bed, then back at him. “Get some sleep, now. Or do I have to knock you out?”

“You’d love that.”

Natasha grinned. “You know me too well.” And with a more serious look, she added, “And when you wake up… try and see past tomorrow for once.”

He nodded, closing his eyes, grateful for the easy command. “Thank you.”

“Anything you need.” She leaned back in the chair. “I’ll be right there.”

“Can you…” He swallowed, not used to simply voicing his needs like this. Instead, he put a hand on the empty mattress next to him and glanced up at her in question.

Natasha gave it a minute’s consideration, then she walked over to him and lay down on the cot, facing him. “This doesn’t mean anything,” she said, quietly.

He nodded, as he slowly wound his bionic arm around her middle and pulled her close.

No, it meant _everything_.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The next day, Barnes sat cross-legged on his bed, his eyes trained on the title page of the contract now lying next to his bare feet. He looked considerably better. He also looked remarkably unimpressed.

“It doesn’t mean I have to work with you,” Barnes said without so much as glancing up at him. “Go on missions, take orders?”

Tony frowned. “No. You’re not going to be an active member.”

No reason to lie to anyone.

“You’ll be registered under our jurisdiction, that’s all.”

After a moment, Barnes nodded and picked up the pen fixed to the stack of papers. He frowned at the post-its for a long moment, before he seemed to understand they were pointing to the signature lines. “I don’t remember my signature.”

Tony was biting back a snarky comment, and instead took a deep breath. “How about you just make a new one? We’ll have to get you new passports and such, anyways.”

There was a pause and Barnes looked down at the paper with the same expression Steve always sported when he didn’t yet know where to start with a new drawing. Then he put the pen down, and with slow, perfectly executed strokes, he wrote his full name down on the line.

“Wonderful,” Tony commented, accepting the papers back, as Barnes shoved them through the lid. “Welcome to the weirdest boy band on earth.”

“Will you tell Steve?” Barnes asked, and he studied Tony with intensity that could melt an iceberg. For some reason, Tony had the feeling he was being tested.

“No,” he said. “It’s not my place. Whenever you’re ready you can tell him yourself, or… not. Entirely your call.”

Barnes drew back, and looked at him for a moment longer, before he nodded.

Tony nodded as well, and made to stand up. At the door he paused, looking back. “He doesn’t expect you to be the same person, you know? He just wants you to get better.”

Barnes swallowed and brushed a hand through his brown hair. “Not sure I ever will. And I don’t want to pull him down with me.”

Tony blinked. What about that, Barnes was actually talking to him. And not just telling him to do something anatomically impossible to himself, but _actual talking_. “Not having you around is pulling him down,” Tony said. “Trust me, he’s moody as hell and it’s really starting to go on my nerves. So if you’d kindly get over yourself within the next year, it’d be real great. And anyway—” He cast Barnes a grin. “—you know Steve. He won’t stop trying, no matter what you do.”

Barnes rolled his eyes that, and Tony almost didn’t trust his eyes when he saw a tiny smile rising to his lips. “He always was kind of a drama queen.”

Tony snorted, grinning. “You know, this might be the first thing we can agree on.”

Barnes smirked a bit at that, and soon they were chuckling together. The kind of laughter that was disguised as much as possible. Like two boys giggling in church.

Perhaps he had been wrong about Barnes. After all, that was becoming the motto for this week, and stranger things had happened. “You know what, Buck-o?” Tony said. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful—”

“Shut up, Stark.”

Or maybe not.

Better not to push it.


	10. All I Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Next chap :) You guys still here? This chap is decidedly fluffy and maybe a bit cheesy, be warned! This is also the second to last chap and the last one with a Bucky POV. I haven't written an epilogue yet, but I figure there's gonna be one. I will tag the series as complete after Hold My Hand, but I do hope I'll find my muse to write the next AoU part, because I think that movie would be great with a bit Stony love involved.  
> ANYWAY. As always, hugs and kisses to morphia for beta-reading. And I hope you enjoy this!

**Tony | Bucky**

 

 

When Bucky woke, he was being hurled to the side with strong arms restraining him. It was Steve—he knew immediately that it was Steve, and at first, he had no idea where he was or why he wasn’t sleeping while curled around Natasha’s body.

His chest ached from the way Steve’s arms were bearing down on it. What had happened? He remembered having a nightmare. Remembered breaking from the inside, and no one had been there to help him. The pain was there. It consumed him. It was all he was. So he lashed out again, his body acting on its own.

“Bucky, stop it,” Steve said urgently and tightened his grip further.

Bucky tried to whirl around, break out of Steve’s grasp around his body, when a muffled moan from the bed caught his attention. Natasha was shaking in her sleep, her limbs twitching and one hand clutching at her arm, and—oh God. There were raising welts on her exposed skin, and in some spots dribbles of blood.

He stared down at his hands and the fingertips of his metal hand were red. Realization came quickly. He had hurt her in his sleep. And suddenly, he couldn’t breathe.

“No,” he stammered with a voice that wasn’t remotely his own and lashed out again. “No, no, no, no, no…”

“She’s alright,” Steve snapped. “Calm down, Bucky. _Breathe_!”

At that, Natasha woke up. Her green eyes were wide with confusion as she stared down at her arm, confused at first, before understanding dawned.

“It’s all right,” she said, immediately. “You know I’ve had worse.” She stood up and walked over to them, then brushed a hand down his tangled hair. “Этоничего, любимый.” _This is nothing, my dear._

Bucky concentrated on her hand and the strong beating heart pressed against his back and mimicked Steve’s breathing. Vaguely, he remembered how often they had done this in the army, calming each other after the worst kinds of nightmares, and upon remembering how easy it had been to let Steve do this for him, he felt himself ease into it.

He let his head fall against Steve’s shoulder, and breathed in deep.

“Я ненавижу это,” he ground out. _I hate this._

“I know,” Steve murmured with a distraught tone, keeping him still. “As soon as you stop trashing, I’ll go. Don’t want to make this harder on you.”

Oh, _for fuck's sake_. Seventy-something years and the altruistic tone in Steve’s voice still made all of his defenses crumble. “You’re not making anything hard on me,” he replied sullenly.

The deadlock around his shoulders loosened up, as Steve leaned back. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Being me is hard on me,” Bucky told him, then glanced at Steve over his shoulder. “Thank you.”

There was a considerate pause and visible surprise on Steve’s face. Bucky sat back down next to him and… this felt strangely formal—two people walking on eggshells although they’d shared so much with each other. He was suddenly overwhelmed with the need to hug Steve, or at least shake his hand or something, but he didn’t really know how to proceed with that.

“You’re welcome,” Steve said and drew back further. With a glance to Natasha’s arm, he stood up and walked over to the cabinets, producing some sort of first aid package and a bottle of disinfectant. He dropped back down on the floor and Natasha wordlessly raised her arm so he could clean the scrapes.

For the first time, Bucky realized how close Nat and Steve seemed to be. He hadn’t paid much attention to their interactions before, but it was very clear now. She wasn’t even paying his movements any attention, simply leaning against his side and trusting him to fix those wounds properly. They were comfortable around each other, and he found himself craving that casual closeness.

_We’re all lost. That’s what brought us together, and that’s what’s keeping us together._

“If you knew…” Bucky said, while staring at the floor, “what I’ve done…”

“Don’t be stupid,” Steve shot back immediately. “What you’ve done was getting captured and brainwashed by HYDRA, Bucky. And whatever you did afterwards wasn’t you,” he said, pointedly. “And one of these days, you’re gonna realize that, too.”

He fidgeted a bit at that but said nothing. It wasn’t that easy, not by a long shot, but Steve obviously wouldn’t budge on this. And whenever his mind was set on something, Steve could be as unmoving as Mount Rushmore.

The small smile that appeared at the corners of Natasha’s mouth told him that both of those assumptions were one hundred percent right.

“You know,” Bucky said, suddenly feeling bold, “things were a lot easier when all I had to do was kill you.”

Steve paused and chuckled. “Sorry to complicate things for you.”

He leaned back, looking right at Steve with a small smile. It was strange… the weight of the nightmare was still there, but he felt a million times lighter nonetheless. “Being your friend has never been anything but complicated, punk.”

Steve nodded, expecting nothing less, and a dry smile spread across his face. “Back at ya, jerk.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Tony knew that the first month of any new adjustment was supposed to be the hardest, and in many aspects, it had been.

Barnes had finally settled in and little by little, his attitudes began to change. His suffering didn’t alleviate, but his ability to tolerate it progressed by leaps and bounds. There was a yearning in his eyes that hadn’t been there before—a yearning to know, to take part in the life happening around him.

So far, he hadn’t left his room on medical, never even asked for it. Instead, he was watching them. It seemed to be his favored pastime now, watching life pass before his eyes. He would watch them talk, watch Steve and Natasha bicker over movie choices right in front of his room, or listen to Clint and Sam discussing maneuvers and past missions.

Books were obviously not Barnes’ forte, no matter how many Steve secretly deposited in his room; but the way he was surrounding himself with the new media was liberating. Two days ago, Bruce had brought him a tablet, and Barnes seemed to handle it with ease. He had probably learned all about new technologies in his training, but never had the freedom to simply explore on his own leisure.

By the end of the next day, Clint had him addicted to Plants vs. Zombies.

He still hadn’t left his room, though, still had panic attacks almost every day, and he barely talked to Steve, which meant Steve was still moody, and still wasn’t sleeping in the penthouse.

And it was slowly driving Tony insane.

Steve’s absence left Tony exhausted, mentally, physically and any other ‘ly’ he couldn’t muster up the wherewithal to remember. Life with Bucky Barnes under his roof was like constantly being on the edge of a knife. But he wouldn’t change it for all the sleep in the world. This wasn’t about Tony, and he could suck it up for once and deal with this.

Steve had his best friend back, and one day Barnes would accept him back in his life, and they could all go back to normal. Tony could go back to actually having a husband—and regular sex—and cuddles in the morning—and _fuck_ , he missed those cuddles almost more than everything else.

It would make Steve happy. That was all that mattered. The fact that he was currently so tired he couldn’t see or think straight was immaterial.

He felt bleary-eyed and punchy. He’d been on the phone for nearly—looking down on his watch, he tried to calculate exactly how many hours he’d spent working with Maria on preparing their next hearing, and couldn’t come up with an accurate number. His head felt like mush. His legs were cramped, his posterior was numb, and he had a pounding headache that was slowly growing into a full blown migraine of mammoth proportions.

Catching his image in the mirror, Tony suppressed a grimace. He looked terrible. His eyes were bruised and the dark circles beneath highlighted just how gray his normally healthy skin looked. God, it was an effort to just stand there. Sighing deeply, Tony turned around and decided that, today, he was going to do absolutely _nothing_ : No phone calls, no new schematics, no anything. In fact, he was going to soak in the shower and then he’d try to get a little sleep.

_J, buddy, is Steve still down on medical?_

_No, sir. He just had a sandwich in the kitchen and now appears to be on his way up to the penthouse._

“Huh,” Tony said out loud, honestly perplexed. “What about that.”

Stepping out of the shower, Tony quickly toweled off. Avoiding his reflection in the mirror, he ran a quick comb through his hair, then wrapped a dry towel around his hips, and made an embarrassingly fast beeline for the bed, practically jumping on top of it. He tried to take up some kind of casual slash no-I-didn’t-wait-here-for-you position, which led to him looking like some obscured version of Rose DeWitt Bukater. Then, the elevator doors in the living room opened and steps echoed across the hallway.

Whatever comment he’d planned to throw at Steve for generously gracing him with his rare attention faltered at the sight of Steve’s smile. His huge-goddamn smile that lit up his face like a Christmas tree.

“What,” Tony blurted.

Steve blinked at him, his eyes taking in Tony’s form. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Your face did.”

“My face doesn’t talk.” Steve paused, his brows bunching together contemplatively. “All right, it does, but—”

“You’re smiling.”

Steve snorted. “Is that bad now?”

“No I…” Tony trailed off, looking him over. “Hey, you look _happy_. That’s what this is. I forgot how that even looks like. Why do you look happy?”

“Thank you for your sensitive observation,” Steve threw out his dry response, walking over to the bed slowly. “I’m sorry,” he said as he sat down next to him, but the smile was still there. “I’m neglecting you.”

Tony smiled, turning around and grabbing for Steve’s hand. He pulled it to his mouth and kissed his palm. “I’m not some embittered housewife, darling. I can deal with being neglected for a while." It was a lie. In the past days, he had been _this_ close to climbing Steve like tree and demanding some much-needed attention. "You need to be sure that Barnes is going to be all right. I understand that.”

Steve hummed, moving closer to him. He buried his face in the crook between Tony’s neck and shoulder, breathing in deep.

“What happened?” Tony asked.

“Bucky talked to me.”

“You mean something that didn’t involve yelling and death threats?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I might’ve told him you wouldn’t stop unless you were dead. And I started to worry that he might take me up on it.”

Steve snorted. “Yeah?”

“You’re annoying like that. Persistent.”

“Thanks ever so,” Steve murmured and leaned down to nip at Tony’s left nipple.

“Oh, I see how it is,” Tony snorted, petting Steve’s head affectionately. “Now that Barnes finally cracked you come crawling back to me. Gotta tell you, if you think I’m just lying around here all day, waiting for you to put it to me, you’re wrong. I’m not some Victorian mistress needing to be bedded in the evening, Rogers.”

He felt Steve grin against his skin. His hand slowly trailed downwards, blindly reaching for the towel around Tony’s hip and loosening the knot until it fell off of Tony’s body. His fingers made circling motions upwards, until his palm was brushing over Tony’s erect cock.

“So you don’t want to me to put it to you?”

Tony’s breath hitched. “I didn’t say that.”

“Good,” Steve mumbled while pressing little kisses all over Tony’s chest.

Tony groaned with how good it felt. “I’m pretty sure I should be putting up more of a fight here.”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t,” Steve answered with a little soft bite to Tony’s left nipple, forcing an embarrassingly high-pitched whelp out of Tony’s throat.

“You’re not playing fair. I think Barnes is a bad influence for you, after all.”

Steve hummed. “Pretty sure Bucky has nothing to do with this.”

And then, the warmth of Steve’s lips was on his own. The curve of his smile. The hint of mouthwash, and then God, his tongue. Steve swallowed him, devoured him, held Tony to him as his mouth opened. And as always, Tony was a goner. A complete and utter goner. He moaned and melted into Steve. The taste of him had Tony inebriated, lost, his arms locked around Steve’s neck without planning to let him go any time soon.

He was memorizing him again. Imprinting Steve on his skin. Taking him inside his mouth, licking his tongue with his own, and Steve was setting him so aflame it was a wonder he could feel at all. His nerves were buzzing. His hands were entangled in Steve’s blonde hair, rubbing his cheeks, exploring his throat, yet he didn’t stop kissing him.

Steve was all warmth. Warm and wiggling… and very obviously aroused.

And then he felt the soft touch of Steve’s lips whispering against his throat, his nails ever-so-gently etching a path along Tony’s erection. Steve wasn’t coy. He didn’t tease. His fingers simply wrapped around Tony’s length with a firm grasp that set his body aflame.

Steve moaned lowly, like the sight alone was enough to bring him close to the edge. He pressed lingering kisses against Tony’s lips. “Did I even thank you yet?”

“What for?” Tony asked breathlessly.

Steve smiled. “I know what you did. What you’re still doing. With the Congress, and Bucky. I was… I couldn’t really think about anything else but Bucky in the last weeks, but I haven’t been blind. And I’m so grateful.”

Tony shook his head, sighing. “Not that I don’t like the idea of being your savior, mind you. But baby—”

“I’m gonna stop listening to you, now,” Steve announced, grinning for a moment, before he pressed his face against Tony’s neck. “You’re just gonna be silly about this and I have better things to do.”

Tony chuckled. “Wonderful,” he said. “That’s how civilized people end a conversation.”

“Since when are we civilized?” Steve’s hands were tearing at the towel again, finally throwing it on the floor for good.

“Well,” Tony breathed. “Thought we’d make it there eventually.”

“I don’t think so,” Steve said, leaning up on his elbows and gazing down at Tony with a soft smile. “What you’ve done, the _things_ you’ve achieved, in just a few weeks.” Steve abandoned his quest of Tony’s throat, working down his body. “As I said, I’m feeling incredibly…” He tongued his way across Tony’s thigh. “…grateful…”

Tony laughed at the mischievousness in Steve’s gaze. The man was such a dork. “Do you now,” he said, weaving a hand through Steve’s hair. “Might need a demonstration.”

Steve chuckled with amusement clearly written all over his face. “I can do that,” he said, grinning, as he ran his tongue along the underside of Tony’s cock. His eyes wandered up his torso until they met Tony’s. Steve was always so fucking pretty when he sucked cock. And the bastard knew it.

Tony carded his fingers through the blonde hair, gently bobbing Steve’s head up and down his length. It wasn’t like Steve needed the encouragement, but by now, he knew Steve liked a little hair-pulling and the general illusion of being controlled like this.

“You look so good like this,” he said, arching up. Steve’s mouth was molten perfection around him. And just to have his lips around him—his tongue swirling, massaging him as he drew him in deeper, and deeper still, until he brushed the soft back of his throat—that was everything. “Steve—if you keep that up…”

Steve hummed, and the vibrations of his mouth sent electric shivers through Tony’s body. Then Steve contracted his throat muscles around him and sucked hard when Tony hissed and bucked, his grip on his hair tightening as a long, tortured moan ripped through his lips.

“ _Fuck_.” Tony moaned. “Love your mouth. Love you. You’re perfect, so perfect, God…”

Steve released him with a wet plop, rubbing his cheek along his length before taking him into his hand again. “Either I’m very good today,” he said with a smug smile. “Or you’ve just not had any in a long time.”

Tony laughed, gently coaxing his head upward so he could see Steve’s blue eyes. “Funny,” he said. “You think you’re so funny. I’ll have you know I’m absolutely capable of self-managing my orgasms.”

Steve grinned. “But that’s only half the fun.”

With that, Steve hastily kicked his shoes off and worked his way out of his pants. Tony got the drift, and rummaged through their bedside drawer for a moment, before throwing the bottle of lube on the mattress. When Steve was free of all bothersome barriers, Tony took a good, long minute to run his eyes appreciatively over his body, then peppered his chest with ravenous, ardent kisses. That was, until Steve pressed the full length of his body down against Tony’s.

“Fuck,” Tony grunted as their cocks made first contact. “You have no idea how much I missed you.”

Steve nodded in agreement. “Me too.”

He held Tony motionless for a minute as his tongue delicately explored his mouth. Clashing against him, fighting him for dominance. And God, Tony gave as good as he got. That and then some. Over and over again. And it drove him absolutely mad with lust.

Just when the urge became too much to tolerate, Steve’s hand swept down the contours of Tony’s body. His fingers found Tony’s cock again, idly smearing a few droplets of pre-come around his shaft, and then doing absolutely nothing.

“Come on,” Tony grunted, after he tore his lips away from Steve’s. “Do I really have to spell it out for you? Fuck me already.”

Steve snorted and leaned up a bit to smile down at Tony. “Not gonna hurry. Not after so long.”

And true to his words, Steve took his merry time. He knelt forward, teasing Tony’s chest with his tongue. And lower still until he was nuzzling at his cock once again. His eyes were glued to Tony’s face, and he watched him as Tony moaned and almost leapt off the bed every time his tongue swept around the sensitive head. His fingers teased him several times with the promise of penetration only to pull back. Only when Tony felt his thighs shake with the strain, did Steve finally have mercy and entered him with a thumb.

Tony tugged at Steve’s arm, tasting himself on his lips when they were eye-level again, ignoring the victorious smirk that arose to Steve’s face in turn.

Fuck it, Tony didn’t care how desperate he must be looking. Not with Steve. He only wanted more. And more. _Always_ more.

“ _Steve_ …”

“Nope,” Steve replied, steadily pumping the finger in and out of Tony. “Taking my time with you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, I do. Oh God. Just…” Tony attempted to lean up and found himself pushed back again. He felt Steve’s hand on him, but didn’t register the sensation, too busily consumed with his own need. Steve cupped the globes of his ass, pushing him upwards somewhat to gain better access. And Tony responded to the feeling more than he intended, grinding his hips against Steve’s finger and reveling in the long-winded groan he received in turn.

He didn’t know how many minutes passed like that—with Steve marking every inch of his body. His fingers slowly—so slowly—opening him up.

“Please,” he pleaded. By the end of it, Tony’s chest was littered with little bite marks, thin trails of saliva, where Steve’s tongue had made its course.

Tony released a trembling breath and gripped his cock to lessen the strain a bit, before pulling his knees up to give Steve better access.

“Let me get you a pillow,” Steve said, as if on second-thought, and leaned to the side to do just that.

Tony snorted as Steve pulled his hips up to shove the pillow beneath him. “God, we’re so terribly married.”

Steve paused and smiled at him, like he was sharing a private joke. Then he leaned down and pressed an innocent kiss against Tony’s lips. “Yeah, well, I love being ‘so terribly married’ to you.”

Their fingers laced and their eyes met. The head of Steve’s cock rubbed tantalizingly across Tony’s opening, and he smiled when Tony whimpered. Then, slowly, Steve edged himself into his ass and held.

Tony moaned, covering the space between them and dropping a kiss on Steve’s neck. He draped both arms around him, and willed himself as close as he could get.

He felt Steve sink into him with relaxation, felt him brush kisses across his forehead. Felt his ridiculous long lashes dance against his skin. “Love this,” Steve said, as he pulled back, brushing strands of Tony’s hair away from his face with gentle attention. “Love you.”

“Love you,” Tony agreed breathlessly, pressing himself against the pillow and arching into Steve’s chest with a loud moan. “Ohh fuck…”

Steve smiled, his fingers dancing around Tony’s cock. The smile illuminating his face grew seductive and he tightened his grip around him. Steve had memorized him so effortlessly. He knew exactly where and how to touch him, knew exactly how he liked to be kissed, knew more about Tony than anyone had ever known.

Something about letting someone in like this—opening up to such an extent—had always terrified Tony. Not anymore. This was wanted. It was needed. Amazing how quickly Steve had become his everything.

Steve’s hand pumped him smoothly, eyes absorbing him as Tony moaned and writhed.

Tony gasped. “Steve…”

There was a little smirk playing around the edge of his mouth. “That’d be me.”

Tony offered an annoyed grunt and pleadingly thrust forward. “Need to come. Please.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” Steve smiled at him and gave his next thrust more momentum, moving just a little harder.

“Fuck,” Tony groaned, eyes melded shut now. “Oh fucking hell, that is so good.”

“More?”

He thrust forward, nodding desperately. “Harder, come on.”

The next thing Tony knew, Steve hauled him upwards and resituated him in his lap, pressing their chests together. He dipped his cock back inside Tony, so goddamn deep now, that an involuntary tremor rumbled through his limbs.

“Fuck, I completely forgot how good you are at sex.”

“Great,” Steve replied on a huff. “Thanks.” With that, he lifted Tony off his lap just enough to torture them both before pulling him up and down again with fast and sharp movements.

Tony released an obscenely loud and sort-of-broken mewl as he pressed his face into Steve’s shoulder. At this point, he was just trying to keep up. Every nerve in his body was on fire and the hard slide of Steve’s cock was driving him into a steadily rising madness. He forced his muscles to contract around him, his heart singing at each little moan Steve released in return.

Steve’s blue eyes darkened as he moved Tony above him. And it felt like Steve was striking a new angle with every plunge. And then he felt Steve’s hand grip the tip of his cock with precision, and it was over. From where his orgasm had sneaked up on him, Tony didn’t know. Only that his body gave way to its pleasure with a force that hadn’t changed. Even after all this time.

Tony’s hands clutched at Steve’s shoulders as he rode out the waves for what felt like hours. He groaned and felt Steve flex beneath him, hooking both arms around Tony’s waist. He dropped him down on the mattress and leaned up on his knees. He held both of Tony’s ankles in his hand and continued to thrust into him with single-minded intent. And when, only moments later, Steve cried out in response, filling him up so good and slumping down the next moment, all Tony could do was kiss his forehead and take his weight.

Steve was always turning his world upside down so effortlessly. He wondered if he even realized he was doing it.

An eternity later, Tony’s thumbs were still caressing weightless circles into Steve's damp skin as his lips found his temple. “If I could move my hand I would high-five you,” he murmured, kissing the other side as well. He trailed his mouth across Steve’s face, pressing kisses on his closed eyes, his nose, and his lips.

Steve smiled lazily. “The thought is what counts,” he said, eventually easing himself out of Tony’s body.

“That was amazing,” Tony mumbled. “A plus. Ten out of ten. Who ever said one night stands are the solution to a great sex life? _Married sex._ So much better.”

Steve snorted. “Glad you agree.”

He rolled on his side of the bed and held his arms open for Tony. With a smile, he settled against his chest, slipping a leg over Steve’s. Steve settled a hand over Tony’s hip; the other at his arm, thumb tracing the skin at his shoulder tenderly.

There was a prolonged pause. “Do you think he’s ready to… live with us?”

Tony raised an eyebrow, fingers lacing through Steve’s. “I’m just gonna assume that by ‘live with us’ you mean join our merry team in the regular non-polyamory living conditions a few floors below ours. And in that case, uh—still no. I think he’s gonna be ready soon, but I don’t think he’s quite there yet.”

Steve frowned thoughtfully, his gaze travelling across the ceiling. “Maybe if Nat asked him… They’ve grown close over the last few weeks. Makes me think he really left his ladies’ man-days behind.”

If the way Barnes had latched onto Natasha like a baby octopus was anything to go by, it was hard to imagine him as some sort of ‘ladies’ man’, but _alas_ , Steve probably knew what he was talking about.

“I think…” Tony started, “and please don’t take this the wrong way… but you’d probably do yourself a favor if you stopped comparing him to Bucky Barnes pre-Hydra, and start getting to know the man he is now.”

Steve nodded, his eyes growing distant with shades of remembrance.

Tony sighed, while playing with the few hairs beneath Steve’s belly button. “If you really want him to move up here… We would need to start with monitored daily releases. Ease him into it. Or perhaps once a week, depending on how much he pisses me off.”

Steve tilted his head in acknowledgment, a smile tugging at his lips. “Come on, he’s not so bad.”

“He’s a giant brat.”

“He’s not.”

“Right.” Tony nodded emphatically. “From the King Brat’s perspective, sure, he’s an angel.”

Steve grinned wryly. “Wonderful. Thank you.”

Tony gave a shrug. “It’s only love I feel.”

“Yeah, I can tell.”

“Fine,” Tony conceded after a moment. “We bring Barnes up here, two Avengers at his side minimum, and see what happens. Afterwards we decide if it becomes a regular thing.”

There was nothing for a minute. Then Tony elbowed Steve, who belatedly realized his cue. “Huh?”

Tony smirked. “You’re doing an inner happy dance, aren’t you?”

Steve smacked his lips together, eyes twinkling devilishly. “Maybe.”

“We’ll be very cautious. Take baby steps. He still has those attacks, and we’re not sure how he’ll react to new surroundings.”

“Of course,” Steve said, as he leaned sideways to nibble at Tony’s neck.

“Are you even listening?” Tony said on a snort, which promptly turned into a low groan as Steve’s hand started to stroke his flaccid dick in even motions.

“I appreciate the thought, babe, but there’s effectively no way I’m up for a second round.”

His words were, however, completely ignored when Steve withdrew from underneath Tony and wound his legs around his waist, pinning him to the mattress with a meaningful smile.

Tony was about to protest some more when he drew to a stuttering stop as Steve promptly leaned down to suck his dick down to the root.

“Steve, honestly, I’m nearing fifty, I’m…” He groaned and pressed his eyes close. Steve was nibbling and sucking and very expertly kneading his balls and just, _fuck_ , his dick was actually making a valiant effort at getting hard again.

Tony moaned lowly. “It’s a Christmas miracle.”

There was a wet plop. “It’s March.”

“Do you doubt our Lord and Savior?”

Steve huffed, and cast him a very disapproving look from where he was hovering over Tony’s belated Christmas-miracle-chubby.

“That scowl is not very effective that way,” Tony pointed out, and cast a loving hand through Steve’s already messy hair. “Now suck me.”

Steve only rolled his eyes, but Tony could feel him smiling as he wrapped his lips around his head once more. A groan spilled from Tony’s lips as Steve’s tongue found a particularly sensitive vein, and he was about to open his mouth to say more, but in that moment, the alarm above their heads started to blare.

Tony blinked. “JARVIS?”

“Sir, it seems Sergeant Barnes suffers through another relapse.”

Tony huffed a disbelieving breath, but immediately schooled his expression when Steve leaned up.

He looked physically pained. “Can’t Thor—”

“I’m afraid mister Odinson left the tower a couple of hours ago.”

“It’s fine,” Tony assured him, and it _was_. “Go help him. I understand. I do.”

Steve sighed, nodded. “I’ll come back soon.” With that, he sat up and moved for Tony’s mouth, kissing him with such fervor that there was no way to mistake his intent. “Thank you,” Steve mumbled, before he made to stand up.

Tony snorted, watching with a smile as Steve’s naked form all but _wobbled_ across the room, infinitely glad he still had that effect on him.

He rushed into the bathroom for a few moments, then came back with his ridiculous red and gold Iron Man sweatpants—some gag-gift by Clint, if Tony remembered correctly. He dragged them up over his gorgeous ass and jogged to the elevator.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky exhaled an annoyed breath as the door to his room opened with a _woosh_. Steve all but charged into the room, in complete battle-stance and looking around frantically. “What,” he gasped, and stared down to where Bucky and Natasha were seated on the floor. They were curled up around each other, with his back pressed against the wall, and her legs wound tightly around his middle to keep him still. She wasn’t quite sitting in his lap, but it was a close call.

He was still trembling visibly, but regained control of himself slowly.

“What happened?” Steve asked with a lost and very confused expression etched on his face now. His eyes flew over their forms, obviously checking for injuries, for blood, and coming up empty.

“Someone has to tell Stark to shut off the damn alarm, that’s what,” Bucky said, and felt Nat chuckling above him.

“ _What?_ ” Steve repeated.

“False alarm,” Bucky told him on a low exhale. “I didn’t have an attack, not really, we just… and I…” He groaned in annoyance and let his gaze drop to the ground.

“I kissed him,” Natasha declared matter-of-factly. “He freaked out.”

“Янепаниковал.” _I didn’t freak out._

“Тыпаниковал,” Natasha said and flashed an alluring smile, before she leaned in and pressed a small peck on his cheek. _You freaked out._

Bucky glared at her.

In front of them, Steve’s puzzled look gave way to amusement. “You had a panic attack because she kissed you?”

Bucky scowled at him. “Says the guy who passed out while holding hands with Esther Ralston behind the church.”

“That’s different,” Steve declared with an eye roll. “I had an asthma attack.”

Bucky grinned and looked up at Natasha. “She talked his ear off about her dead poodle and he nearly died because he was too enamored with her to tell her to stop.”

Natasha grinned back and shrugged. “Steve’s a trooper.”

Bucky waved a hand at both of them dismissively. “Steve’s too noble for his own good. Always has been. You probably still never had a proper girlfriend.”

At that, Natasha and Steve exchanged a long, meaningful glance before simultaneously imploding in a sea of amused chuckles.

“How’s that funny,” Bucky asked and it was in that second, that he noticed Steve’s attire for the first time. Or his lack of an attire.

Steve was wearing some sort of pajama pants, and not much else. The pants had some goofy red and gold pattern that was so unlike Steve that Bucky had to physically fight back a snarky comment. It was showing the robot he’d fought on the bridge. _Iron Man_. The sweatpants were only mildly interesting, though, since Steve’s bare chest was also littered with dozens of hickeys and scratch marks and that was…

It was _very_ clear what Steve had been up to before he’d come down here.

“You have a girl?” Bucky blurted, suddenly overwhelmed with curiosity, and unable to help himself. “Why didn’t you tell me— _Who is she?_ ”

Steve stopped laughing and cast him a surprised glance. He looked down at himself and realized for the first time how naked he truly was. For a moment Steve seemed to have some sort of inner debate whether or not he needed to be sheepish about this, then decided to soldier on. It was the same look he’d always sported back in the days, just before squaring his skinny shoulders, raising his voice, and insulting whoever had just failed his expectations of decent behavior.

The memory had Bucky’s heart ache.

“Who is it?” he repeated.

Steve’s shoulders were decidedly less skinny now, but the look of stubbornness was all the same. “That’s a question you will only get an answer to when you actually leave this room and come upstairs with us,” he replied with a very serious expression.

“It’s not that interesting,” Bucky said, making it sound as firm as he possibly could. Which wasn’t much, because if Steve had at last found a girl, he _needed_ to know.

“Fine,” Steve echoed. He walked across the room and only stopped in the doorway. “Take your time, but… whenever you’re ready, Buck. We’re just a few floors upstairs.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

In just a few days, Tony was looking and feeling much better. The dark circles had started disappearing and he was actually looking forward to spending time with everyone. Hill had been a great help over the past couple of days, really pitching in to step in with the Committee hearings, while not giving him a hard time when things didn’t go the way she wanted. Which, truth be told, she’d been known to do so far.

But time was working in their favor and everyone was doing a great job with getting Barnes off the Congress’s grit. It was only a matter of days, now—Tony was sure of it.

When he walked into the penthouse, however—ready to drop everything then and there and grab a quick shower—he was greeted with a sight he didn’t get to see all that often.

Steve was sitting on the floor next to the bathroom door, his back pressed against the wall, while his forehead rested on his knees. He was shaking a little, and the whole situation had Tony so profoundly confused that he didn’t even know what to say.

Eventually, he shook himself out of his stupor, and slowly made to approach Steve.

_JARVIS?_

_Sergeant Barnes attacked Steve as soon as they walked into the penthouse, Sir. My data indicates that the foreign surrounding triggered him, though my analysis on the situation is still incomplete. Sergeant Barnes has it under control now, although he is currently hiding in the main bathroom. It also seems that Steve inflicted some minor damage on Sergeant Barnes' arm. Steve seems to have a few scratches and light hematomas, but is otherwise uninjured._

Tony sighed. Well, shit. No wonder Steve was shaking. In hindsight, he should probably have seen something like this coming.

_Didn't you call for help?_

_I alerted Doctor Banner and Agent Romanov, but they were both not in the vicinity and the incident only happened two point five minutes ago._

_All right. Tell them I got it covered._

_Very well, sir._

“Darling…”

“It was my fault,” Steve mumbled without even looking up. “I convinced him to come up here. Wanted too much too soon.”

Tony sighed while squatting down in front of Steve. “We talked about this. It’s good to push him out of his comfort zone. Just please don’t do it on your own.”

“I know. It was stupid.” Steve looked up and Tony tried not to look too distraught at the sight of the black eye Steve was currently sporting. It was already healing, as far as Tony could tell, so it was probably wise not to have a freak-out right now. “Can you please check on him?" Steve asked. “I’m… he won’t let me in and JARVIS says he’s back to normal…”

Tony nodded and pressed a gentle kiss against the intact side of Steve’s face. Then, he made to stand up. He knocked on the door once, not waiting for a reply since he knew there wouldn’t be one, and unlocked it via Extremis. Then, he pushed it open a fraction.

Barnes only regarded him briefly from where he sat hunched against the Jacuzzi. He didn’t look surprised at all and only turned around to once more look at his own reflection in the wall-mirror. The bionic arm was hanging limp at his side, there was a small cut on his cheek, and some light bruising on his human arm. He looked completely out of place in the luxurious bathroom. Steve had done his best to make the room a little less clean-cut and a bit more homey, but it hadn’t thoroughly eradicated the minimalistic atmosphere.

Tony closed the door behind himself and wordlessly retrieved a first aid kit from one of the cabinets, making sure to stay in Barnes’ line of sight while he moved around the room. He set it down next to Barnes and stood there, regarding him for a long moment. Barnes seemed to shrink under his gaze when he glanced at the kit, then turned his eyes away.

Tony went into motion then, opening the kit and taking out some wipes. “Everything alright?” he asked conversationally.

Barnes glanced at him, before looking down on his feet without saying a word. There was a long silence, neither of them quite knowing what to say, and Tony cleared his throat twice before speaking up.

“Long day, and all.”

Barnes turned to him and opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again and simply nodded.

“I know you don’t want to be here, but I need to see to that, so… let’s just get this over with quick, okay?” Tony offered.

Barnes sighed, but nodded all the same. Tony pointed him to sit down on the lid of a sturdy wicker clothes hamper, directing him to prop his human hand on the sink across from him. He submitted to Tony’s orders without complaint, like the good soldier he was, his eyes following him as he grabbed a pack of cotton balls and a small bottle from the medicine cabinet above the sink.

He tended to Barnes’ hand methodically. They all had some basic medical knowledge by now, and while Tony’s was probably the worst, he was still able to clean and disinfect some cuts and scrapes.

Barnes breathed mechanically and just when Tony pressed a wet cotton ball to the side of his wrist, he let out an almost girlish yelp that neither of them seemed to have expected.

“Какого чёрта?” Barnes shouted. _What the hell?_ “That fucking hurts!”

Tony stilled in his movement, startled by the sudden outburst. Somehow he’d thought Barnes would take anything, even the painful procedures, without so much as blinking. He couldn’t even form thoughts to how much of a relief it was to be wrong about this.

“Don’t be a baby,” he told him. “A couple of months ago, a slime monster dumped a whole church on me and left me there to burn to death; so you can deal with a little antiseptic.”

Barnes gave him a little unimpressed huff at that, which might’ve been a laugh in another situation, and then sat quietly as Tony cleaned his cut.

As he worked, Barnes spoke up. “I hurt Steve.”

“Yeah, well, you slipped,” Tony pointed out. “We expected that. Honestly, you were long due and, that’s all fine. It was a bit stupid of Steve to try this on his own.”

When Barnes didn’t answer again, Tony heaved a long sigh and sat back a little to look the man straight in the eye. “You’ve hardly been out of medical for an hour,” Tony said softly, “Cut yourself some slack.”

Barnes’ eyes landed on him instantly and he frowned in confusion. “You think this is normal?”

“What?” Tony asked with a raised brow. “That your brain gets overwhelmed with seventy plus years of jumbled memories? Yes, that’s perfectly normal. Call it a side-effect. There will be triggers, but you’ll learn how to deal with them in time. And while you do that, you have a bunch of superheroes around you who can deal with you not dealing. Steve’s a tough cookie, you know that better than anyone. That little black eye there? Is probably already healed, alright?”

Barnes raised his hand to nudge the shoulder where the metal arm was sewn into his body, his eyebrows knit in confusion. “I’m still expecting to wake up,” he said after a long moment, not quite meeting Tony’s eyes. “Sometimes I’m just drifting off and I’m back in the basement where they kept me…”

“You were frozen and defrozen for over seventy years,” Tony replied lowly. “That’s a whole lifetime. ‘Course you need some time to process all of that.”

Barnes ran his now-bandaged hand across his face and offered a pained smile. “I remember everything.” The implication buried in his voice sent small shivers across Tony’s skin.

“Everything?” Tony echoed. He hadn’t dared to ask Barnes so far. He and Bruce had suspected that the removal of the implants would eventually lead to Barnes remembering his past lives, but there hadn’t been a way to be sure. “Or everything since?”

“Everything. What I’ve done. It’s like watching myself doing all these things.” Barnes released a long, quivering sigh. “I feel everything I felt then, but it’s… it’s different now. Worse, in so many ways.” The word came out as if pained; Tony could see him wincing as he spoke.

After a moment, Barnes’ face hardened. Tony had long since sat back on the floor, regarding him with cautiousness. Somehow, Tony knew exactly what Barnes was thinking right now and he just… _couldn’t_. He couldn’t do this. Just hearing the words on Barnes’ lips would end up propelling all sorts of images around Tony’s mind and he really wasn’t ready to be dealing with this.

“I, look—We knew what you’ve done before we brought you here, and I don’t know what that says about me, but I really don’t care. You’re Steve’s friend and I…” He bit his lip, stopping himself right there, because breaking _those_ particular news to Barnes sure as hell was Steve’s job. “You’re welcome here, is what I’m saying. And if you don’t mind, I would prefer we don’t talk about my parents. Ever.”

Barnes flinched a little, but his limbs that had previously shaken with the stress, now merely trembled with fatigue.

“There’s a room for you, by the way,” he said. “Or a floor, really. Didn’t want to presume you and Natasha would want to hit it off right away, but I could also bring another bed onto her floor and…” He cleared his throat. “What I want to say is, if you decide to leave that cell behind, I have space for you; space that you control, and that only you have access to. Doesn’t matter what happened out there. You’re still welcome.”

After another moment of awkward silence Barnes gave a weak smile. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“You’re welcome,” Tony said, before glancing over to the bionic arm. “I’ll have to take a look at that. JARVIS—my, uh, robot butler—”

Barnes snorted. “I know what an AI is,” he interjected and had the audacity to roll his eyes at Tony.

“Oh, yeah, alright—my _AI_ did a scan of your arm just now and there’s only a small glitch with the motion sensor that made it shut down. I can fix that in a minute or two. However…” He paused for a moment, gauging his words very carefully. “There’s a few things I could improve. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the arm is amazing as it is, the responsiveness is state-of-the art, and the way they integrated the settings with your nervous system is giving me a headache, but… if you’d let me work on it for a few hours, I think I could make it move a bit smoother, I know some mechanisms are still giving you a bit of a hard time.”

Barnes had gone quiet again, his gaze cast downwards.

“It was just an offer,” Tony backpedaled. “Doesn’t have to be now, or ever, really. Just—the offer’s on the table.”

The corners of Barnes’ mouth quirked up. “No, it’s fine… It’s just, Nat already warned me that you’re dying to look at it. I was sorta waiting for you to ask me.”

Tony grimaced. He’d _tried_ to be patient. “Well, Nat’s a big tattletale.”

Barnes sighed, then raised his gaze to the door. Wondering. Waiting. “He’s still sitting there, right?”

“What,” Tony replied with a laugh. “Is that a rhetorical question? Don’t tell me you have been hanging around Steve all this time and you don’t know how stubborn he is?”

Barnes cracked a nostalgic smile. “You’re close to him,” he said thoughtfully.

_In ways that are very unchristian._

Tony nodded. “We… all are. I can’t even remember all of them not being here.”

“I’ve never seen him with friends. I guess I never… He seems happy, not so burdened,” Barnes observed. “He’s different from what I remember.”

Tony shrugged. “Stuff happens.” He paused, appraising the man with a pensive eye. “Is that why you still cut him out?”

There was a long beat of silence; any hint of jollity falling from Barnes’ eyes without much incentive. “No,” he said softly. “It just confuses me. I want it but I have trouble grasping all of this. It’s too much, too fast.”

“You’re already much better. This entire thing’s gonna be one of those one-step-at-a-time shindigs.”

Barnes frowned but nodded all the same.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky awoke curled in warmth.

Strange. In his life, warmth was not supposed to exist. And yet, for everything, the comfort of Nat’s embrace was all around him. She was breaking his barriers, one by one.

He knew that he had been supposed to be a soulless monster. They had made him a symbol of death and terror, and he had thought he always would be. He’d never even realized how lost he was without her. But he always was. Just some lost soldier who had forgotten he ever had a home.

Until she’d given one to him.

He still often woke up terrified that he was back in Zola’s basement, in the container they had locked him in. The place that had been his prison for years that felt like an eternity. That everything that happened since would be accredited to a dream, and this place, Natasha, Steve, everything… would only be a place he had imagined in a fit of despair.

Bucky’s arms tightened around her once more, and Nat murmured something unintelligible. Her head was pillowed on his chest, her right arm curved over his, and a calm look of serenity graced her sleeping face. No one had ever made him feel the way Natasha did. The way she looked at him when she thought he wasn’t looking. The way she would brush kisses against his forehead or his hand when he was distressed. The way she shared his pain without losing her fortitude.

He was in love with her. He had only gotten glimpses of it in all the lifetimes before when love had seemed impossible, but he knew so now. It was warmth that came without fear or doubt. Nat was curled around him, naked and soft. He had thought he was too jaded to feel like this anymore, but he had been wrong. Nat had given color to a heart worn with blacks and grays. And yes, he loved her. Somehow, even while forgetting her, she had always had his love.

The future still terrified him, but he felt he could bear it now as long as she was at his side.

Bucky released a low breath and ran the fingers of his metal hand through her red locks. They were so much shorter now than he was used to.

She murmured a bit, her eyes fluttering open. Nat had always been a light sleeper.

“Morning,” she said, brushing a finger over one of the more prominent scars on his chest.

“Morning,” he replied with a low smile. “Sleep well?”

She closed her eyes again. “Yeah.”

He paused and cocked his head, studying her intently. “Are you blushing?”

A huff left her lips, as she looked back up and cast him a deathly scowl. “I’m not blushing. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Bucky smiled and tightened his arm around her waist. “You sure didn’t use to,” he agreed when the ache subsided. He traced a human finger along her decidedly rosy cheeks.

A sigh tore through her lips. “It’s… I changed. People change you,” she admitted and her eyes darted to the clock on the other side of the room. She made to stand up then, and Bucky only barely caught her around the waist, pulling her back. He coaxed her to lie down on top of him, disentangling his legs from the bed sheets.

A small murmur of complaint rumbled through her throat as her weight was shifted, but otherwise, she held perfectly still. “I have to be in DC in a few hours. You should get more sleep,” she said gently, placing a hand on his cheek. “It’s still dark outside.”

“Stay,” he said.

“Stay?”

He turned his metal hand into a fist, wondering if she could hear his heart as it suddenly began to slam against his breastbone. If she did, she gave no indication. Cautiously, he tugged on her hand until the length of her arm splayed across his abdomen. “Stay with me.”

For an excruciatingly long moment, Natasha stared at him without moving, stared at him with uncertainty plain on her face. Then, she slowly licked her lips and smiled at him. She pressed against him once more, curled in his embrace.

“I can stay a little longer,” she said, and gently grasped his metal hand in her own, and pulled it across her body. “But I won’t stay down here forever. And neither should you.”

“I hurt Steve,” he said quietly. “I can’t control it. At one point it’s me and then it’s… someone else.”

Natasha brushed a gentle hand across his forehead. “That someone else will always be there. Trying to ignore it only makes the paranoia worse.”

“I would’ve killed him if he hadn’t been strong enough to stop me.”

“Don’t make this your fault.”

“Nat—”

She pressed her brow to his. It was so strange. He remembered wanting to kill Steve so clearly. He had bruised his body with his fists. He had done nothing to deserve all of their kindness. Sometimes he wondered why they even bothered.

“You know why, James,” she said a minute later, as always able to read exactly what was going through his mind. “You know why he does it.”

He did. He knew why. He just couldn’t believe it.

He only hoped he remembered this. Being held in the safety of her arms. His enemy that was no longer his enemy. His enemy that had become his savior. For the first time, there was hope not to forget again, not having to start anew.

He was irrevocably lost in her. Lost more than he ever had been when it came to love.

Natasha studied him for a minute and raised a tentative hand to palm his cheek. “No matter what they tried to tell you, no matter what they wanted to make you believe,” she said, thumb caressing circles into his skin, “you’re still you where it counts. Here…” She gently drummed her fingers against his temple, then slid her touch southward until it rested above his heart. “And here.”

He leaned forward until his brow was touching hers, his mouth provocatively near her own. And he wanted so desperately to forget about everything else and kiss her again until he remembered nothing else but her. Taste her skin. Memorize every inch of her with his tongue. Lose himself in her body. Bring her over the edge again and again, until all of his pain was drowning in pleasure.

But—a more reasonable part of his brain supplied—he needed to face reality at some point, he needed to face Steve. And Natasha was right. She deserved better than to live down here in this cell. And he needed to find out if there was a life outside of this room waiting for him.

“You might not be the man Steve knew,” she told him quietly. “But you’re also not the man HYDRA tried to make out of you. You’re you. And even if it takes some time to find out what that means… try to do it with people who care about you.”

Bucky nodded with a sigh. For the first time since he’d been awakened again, he felt the screaming within him calm—felt the rage roll into a gentle hum. Felt normal for a blink of his abnormal life.

“We won’t force you to live with us. But I’m counting on you. To… make the right decision.”

He blinked. Somehow, he hadn’t been expecting that. Had always figured he would either live here or go into prison. “The right decision?” he echoed. “The right…”

“Yes,” Natasha said. Then she leaned in close and brushed her warm lips against his own. And for the first time in decades, he felt something like peace washing over him. He never thought it possible. It felt like Natasha had been with him for years. That generations had passed since the time he thought of her as his adversary.

She was silent for a minute, her hands caressing the shoulder where his metal arm was curled around her. Softening the skin where he was as hard as stone. Soothing him where he ached.

“We do this together,” she said. “You don’t have to go through this alone.”

She was right. Together, they could do this. They could face the past and start a future. They could know heat in the middle of a winter storm. For all that was behind them, there was only the road ahead to look to. The first means to an end either had ever known.

Natasha pulled back and smiled into his eyes, caressing his cheek. “Я вас любил: любовь еще, быть может…” she quoted softly. “В душе моей угасла не совсем.”

_I loved you; and perhaps I love you still. Inside my soul it never fully vanished._

The words were hauntingly beautiful, and strangely familiar, but they were kissing again before Bucky could question their origin.

It didn’t matter.

There would be another time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The line Natasha is quoting is from a poem by Alexander Pushkin.


	11. Homecoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, so this is the final chap and also the conclusion of this series, at least for now. I'm not sure when and if an AoU sequel will happen, so I'll tag the series as completed for the time being. Would you guys even be interested in another part?  
> Anyways... it's been one hell of a ride for me, writing this story, and I can't emphazise enough how much every comment meant to me. You've all been so supportive and I don't think I could've get this done without your encouragment here and on tumblr, so THANK YOU.  
> Also: Thanks so much to my wonderful beta-reader morphia who didn't only correct my errors but also always listened to my whining and ranting <3

**Steve**

 

Whatever Steve was expecting to see when he walked into the Avengers’ living room quarters a few days later, it certainly hadn’t been this. Clint and Sam stood at his side, and they all came to a stop at the same time, staring at the scene in front of them.

At first, Steve was just relieved that Bucky was no longer in his cell. But seeing him sitting in the living room, wearing colorful sweatpants and a t-shirt, watching what looked a lot like ‘Keeping Up With the Kardashians’ while Natasha was stretched across the sofa with her head resting on his lap, still in her pyjamas… that was something else entirely.

It had been their first real Avengers mission after what had happened in Washington. A lead on a HYDRA research base in Eastern Europe had come up, reports of experimentations on humans led by a high-ranking member of HYDRA called Strucker. So they’d taken a Quinjet and raided the area. The whole building complex had been cleared out, though, and whatever HYDRA camp had once been set up there, they had obviously gotten a heads-up. Strucker had left them a little surprise party though, a few dozens of HYDRA agents that had offered a fair share of resistance. It hadn’t taken the team very long to get the situation under control, but in the end, the mission had still taken up most of the night.

Steve smiled when he stepped into the room. Although Bucky’s attention seemed focused on the television, his hands were idly playing with Natasha’s hair, stroking it back from her forehead and twining her curls around the fingers of his metal hand. For Natasha’s part, she looked half-asleep, her eyes glazed and nearly shut, her gaze trained on nothing at all. If she were a cat, Steve was sure he would have been purring.

“Okay,” Sam whispered. “That’s scary.”

“I see your scary,” Clint muttered to him, “and raise you a ‘what the hell’?”

Steve cleared his throat, and announced their presence. “Did we fall through a rabbit hole?”

Natasha barely even turned her head as the three men walked into the room, and her drowsy expression didn’t change at all but for a languid smile that appeared at the corners of her mouth. “Hello, boys.”

In contrast to Natasha’s serenity, Bucky suddenly looked like a deer caught in headlights. He was still a little pale, a little too thin, his longer hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. “Nat said you were away on a mission,” he said awkwardly, looking back and forth between them, while not-quite meeting Steve’s eyes.

“We were,” Steve answered, trying not to grin. “And now we’re back.”

“Efficient, aren’t they?” Natasha asked no one in particular as she slowly pulled herself into a sitting position.

Bucky opened his mouth to say something, clearly seeing through Natasha’s scheme, but she simply ignored him and made to stand up.

“I’m hungry,” Natasha announced, looking at Sam. “Should we fix breakfast?”

“No pancakes,” Steve told them quickly.

Sam shrugged, following Natasha. “Tony said he wants bacon.”

“Tony always wants bacon,” Steve replied. “His cholesterol level, however, tells a complete different story.”

For half a second, Steve thought Bucky might make a break for the elevator. But then, suddenly, he let out a loud snort.

“What,” Steve asked as he leaned against the kitchen counter, mimicking Bucky’s smile instinctively when he saw the amusement on his face.

“Is this the kind of person you are now?” Bucky asked. “Monitoring everyone’s diet?”

Natasha shrugged, casting him an innocent expression. “Told you he changed.”

Sam nodded in agreement. “Steve’s the perfect mother hen.”

Steve was about to open his mouth at that, planning to tell them exactly what he thought of that nickname. But before he could fully decide what to say without breaking the light mood, there was a low ping from the elevator.

“Whoa,” Tony exclaimed theatrically. “Would you look at that? From Russia With Love finally found their way back to humanity.” As Tony walked by, he dropped a noisy kiss on Steve’s lips, humming appreciatively before sauntering to the coffee machine.

Clint chimed in, casting Steve a half-grin, “Did you bribe them with vodka? ‘Cause I might’ve thought about that for a few days now.”

When Steve turned around, he realized Bucky had gone completely still. He wasn’t moving at all, and only stared at Steve; half stunned, half aghast. Then, slowly, his bewildered eyes travelled over to where Tony stood, before they snapped back to Steve.

It took several long seconds for Steve to understand what had just happened, and when he did, Bucky was already yelling at him.

“It’s Stark?” he asked incredulously.

“Bucky—”

“You’re banging Stark?”

Sam snorted, elbowing Clint. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

Clint only grinned. “Second that.”

“I set you up with a thousand dates, a thousand,” Bucky yelled. “And you never even cared to tell me I should be finding a fella for you? Are you kidding me?!”

Tony choked on his coffee with an undignified noise. He gulped down whatever had actually stayed in his mouth, then cast Steve a shit-eating grin. “I think I just outed you.” He shrugged unapologetically. “My bad.”

“I like girls just fine,” Steve told Bucky with an eye roll.

“Not anymore, you don’t,” Tony chimed in. He walked around the kitchen counter, coffee mug in one hand, the other around Steve’s shoulder as he leaned against him.

Steve rolled his eyes as he cast Tony an unimpressed glance. “Yeah, well, I don’t like other fellas anymore, either, smart-ass.”

“О чём, чёрт возьми, они говорят?” Bucky asked in Natasha’s direction. What the fuck are they talking about?

“Они женаты,” she said while setting her chin on Bucky’s shoulder. They’re married.

“You married a Stark?!”

At that moment, Bruce entered the floor via the stairs. He’d been the only one aside Natasha who hadn’t been called in for the mission. He rubbed his sleep-mussed hair and looked only mildly surprised when he saw all of them standing around in full uniform. “What are you doing back so early?” He looked around, frowning. “And where’s Thor?”

Tony shrugged. “We left him on the side of the road to find his way home. Figured the fresh air would do him good.”

Steve sighed. “Tony—”

“Fine. He’s sulking because we didn’t find Loki’s scepter and went to visit Foster for a few days.”

“The area had been cleared before we even got there,” Sam explained.

Bruce nodded, walking over to the cooktop, looking down on whatever Natasha and Sam were making for breakfast. “Could you fix some porridge?” he asked.

“Bacon,” Tony said, pointing at the pans. “I want bacon.”

“No bacon,” both Steve and Natasha replied simultaneously.

Bruce chuckled, before glancing at Bucky. “And you? What would you like for breakfast?”

There was an awkward silence. Bucky was still staring at Steve like he was having trouble understanding what was even happening. Only when he realized that Bruce had addressed him directly, he met Natasha’s eyes, shifting uncomfortably. She offered a bemused smile and nodded.

Bucky glanced back at Bruce. “Porridge sounds good,” he decided on.

Bruce nodded like all of this wasn’t a big deal, and only just turned around to hide a wistful smile of his own. “Good.” He pointed at the shopping bags next to the counter. “There’s fresh fruit in there. Help me cut it?”

Only a few minutes later, Steve watched as Bucky and Bruce were peacefully chopping fruits on the left side of the kitchen. While Bruce had just sliced his second apple in half, Bucky was about to turn his sixth into perfect tiny cubes, the knife all but flying over the fruit with intense concentration.

“I think he’s found a new purpose. We’ll never run out of fruit salad ever again,” Tony murmured next to him, an equally amused smile on his lips, as he leaned his head against Steve’s shoulder.

Steve huffed, but turned sideways to kiss Tony’s forehead anyway. “I don’t recall seeing you eat fruit salad ever before.”

“Yeah, but I could now.”

There was a pause, and they both chuckled as their fingers entwined.

“Sorry about that,” Tony added quietly after a moment. “I wasn’t thinking.”

Steve shrugged, unmoved. He wound an arm around Tony’s torso and pulled him nearer still. “Would’ve told him soon, anyway. He’ll come around.”

After breakfast, Tony and Clint both announced it was time for a movie marathon. Steve thought about objecting for a second—they all hadn’t slept for a day, and the mission reports needed to be written—but then… they hadn’t done this in weeks, months, probably. And spending a day eating junk food while bickering about movie choices sounded awfully good.

“‘Back to the Future’,” Tony announced as he flopped down on the couch next to Steve. The others were nodding, so Tony’s eyes turned oily-black, and in the next moment, the movie’s intro started playing. “Obvious choice, now that we’ve got two of you here.”

Bucky looked at Tony with a deep frown on his face. He opened his mouth a few times, seemingly not sure if the way Tony’s eyes could apparently just change their color was something he should be wondering about, since it seemed to be completely normal as far as everyone else was concerned.

Steve could remember the feeling well.

“I’ll explain later,” Steve offered with a small smile, just as Tony’s eyes turned back to their normal color. “It’s… complicated.”

“Your people are crazy,” Bucky murmured and only slowly dragged his gaze away from him and Tony. There was more he wanted to say, Steve understood that, but now wasn’t the time.

Bucky and Natasha had taken up the other side of the couch, and while they weren’t fully cuddling or anything, they were definitely sitting very closely. Bucky’s voice was airy but he was looking straight at him now, and there was something in his eyes. It wasn’t sad or reproachful—it wasn’t even too serious—and it made Steve ache. It made him feel—Home.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed with a smile and put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Welcome to the crazy people.”

Bucky just nodded, breathing in, and nodded some more.

Steve wanted to hug him, then, but somehow it didn’t feel like the right moment. Instead, he leaned into Tony more fully and pressed a kiss against his cheek. But Tony was having none of it. Fingers dug into Steve’s shirt and he pulled him closer, while guiding Steve’s mouth to his.

They both smiled as their lips touched and kissed unhurriedly for a few seconds. These days, every moment they had for themselves needed to be treasured. Having Tony’s arms around him, his scent filling Steve’s nose, it was everything.

“Could you save it for when I’m not around?” Bucky asked next to them. “I don’t, I… It’s giving me a headache.”

“Well now,” Tony chuckled against Steve’s lips and gave him one last peck before he drew back. When Steve looked up, Bucky was staring intently at the television. “Couldn’t have that. Now that we just fixed you.”

“Better get used to it, mate,” Clint said with a resigned wave in their general direction. “Cause it’s never ever going to stop…”

 

 

* * *

 

 

At some point before dinner, Steve excused himself for a quick shower. The mission had lasted far longer than he’d expected, and he really needed to freshen up a bit.

When he walked out of the penthouse’s bathroom a good ten minutes later, JARVIS alerted him quietly of Bucky’s presence in the living room. Steve pulled on briefs and a t-shirt and slowly walked through the short hallway, only coming to a stop right before the last corner.

Bucky was circling the room. His gaze flickered back and forth between the grand open space of the sofa area, the bar, the ceiling-high glass front leading up to the tower’s roof and the New York skyline. Steve knew it had to be at least a little overwhelming. Even though Steve had been living here for a good while now, that still hadn’t changed. Sometimes, when he walked into the kitchen in the morning to make both him and Tony a coffee, he paused and simply stared.

Over two years in, and it still felt surreal to him. Not always, but… sometimes. Like all of this was only one of those desperate fantasies of finding a place to call home that he used to conjure up when he’d just been defrozen, and lonely. He knew that it wasn’t one, of course. Enough time had passed that he could trust this was real. Maybe it was the fact that it sometimes felt like sheer luck that he’d made it here. Every morning waking up in their shared bed, Tony’s warm body curled around his, tangled limbs and soft hair, one hand lying splayed across the expanse of Tony’s back, listening to the sound of his breathing, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat…

Sometimes it just felt too good to be true.

Eventually, Bucky had come to a standstill near the sofa. A stack of books lay beside it and he stooped down to read the titles, most of which he probably recognized, because Steve’s fondness for classics hadn’t changed much in the last seventy-something years.

Bucky looked calm as he took in his surroundings, but there was a tremor in his metal arm he couldn’t quite control. Steve could detect the scent of fresh sweat on Bucky’s skin, and it was obvious how nervous he was. Bucky was opening one of the books now, for once not all that wary about his surroundings. That was a good sign, Steve thought; that Bucky wasn’t on edge all that much anymore.

Steve eased his way back through the corridor and into the bedroom. He walked into their dressing room and pulled a new pair of jeans out of a drawer. As soon as he reached down, though, there was a hard object pressed to his lower back. “You should be more careful,” Bucky murmured. “You never know what kind of villain’s got a knife at your back.”

The words might have sounded threatening—and perhaps, in a way, Bucky had even meant for them to be. But they also came out softer than anything Bucky had said to him so far, almost conversational, and much calmer than Steve actually felt. Dropping the jeans back into the drawer, Steve raised both hands in surrender. “I’m not used to being all that careful at home.”

Bucky hummed, and withdrew the knife again.

When Steve stood up, he cast him a small smile that Steve returned immediately.

Together, they walked back into the bedroom, and Steve’s eyes followed Bucky’s gaze, as he inspected the space.

“So this is where you’re having your sordid affair with Howard’s boy?” Bucky asked after a minute of silence.

Steve pursed his lips, knowing better than to think Bucky was being serious. “It’s called marriage, these days.” He followed Bucky as he made a slow walk across the room. “Why are you here? I thought you were having a good time down there.”

Bucky’s forehead wrinkled slightly as he struggled to find an answer. “I guess I came to… apologize for hitting you the other day.” There was a false note in his voice. Steve realized that while he might be sorry, that wasn’t the reason he was here.

“It’s fine,” he said, after a moment of puzzled silence. “Wasn’t the first wallop between us. Probably won’t be the last.”

Bucky’s mouth quirked upwards. After a moment, he nodded and looked relieved.

And then he advanced again, eyes cautious but resolute. Like he had made the decision to do something potentially unpleasant, and was now determined to see it through. Steve drew in a surprised breath and then, his body was suddenly crushed against an armful of Bucky.

Without another beat, Steve pulled him nearer, hugging him with all he had. At the same time, they both wrapped their arms around each other and Steve pressed a relieved smile into Bucky’s shoulder.

It still felt unreal… that Bucky was truly here, and that the both of them had somehow managed to find each other again, all those decades into the future.

They were still for long moments—timid and quiet. “Thank you for giving this a try,” Steve told him honestly.

“Nat said they found you in the Atlantic,” Bucky murmured, not moving an inch. “How long were you gone?”

“About seventy years.”

His words were followed by a small nod. “That must’ve been something.”

Steve smiled, patting Bucky’s back with calm reassurance. “Yeah…” he agreed. “Luckily your girlfriend helped me through it.”

Bucky huffed and drew back, shoving his metal hand against Steve’s shoulder, pushing him back a little. “Jerk.”

Steve grinned, eyes glittering with mischief. Then he took a deep breath, forcing the question out, because otherwise he’d never do it. “How long was it for you?”

For a second, pain overshadowed Bucky’s features, but he didn’t close in completely. “Forever.” His voice wavered a bit, but then he got hold of himself. “And also just… brief glimpses. Can’t really explain it. Everything always re-started. Every time they brought me out of the ice, I hadn’t known any time had passed at all. Now it seems like… forever.”

Steve cringed. He had hoped Bucky wouldn’t confirm his suspicions about the procedure, and he wanted to rip something apart in his sudden rage. Not wanting Bucky to see the fury he knew was flickering in his eyes, he lowered his gaze to the floor. “I’m so sorry, Buck,” he whispered.

“Oh, come on,” Bucky said, his tone serious. “Nat told me you have this whole guilt-tripping thing going for you lately. You need to stop that. What happened to me wasn’t your fault, and you know it.”

Steve turned away, focusing a hard stare at the skyline. “It’s easy for her to say that, she wasn’t there. I should’ve moved faster, done something different. Shouldn’t have let you fall… not down that train, and not into their hands.”

Bucky ran his metal hand through his hair, agitation clear in his stance. Then he caught Steve’s eyes in a firm stare. “Look. Steve. Back then, when we were children? I couldn’t always protect you like I wanted. Couldn’t save you from landing in the hospital every other week, and not for lack of trying. I hated that, I really did, but in the end, I wasn’t responsible for you being a stubborn little shit.” He paused, inhaling lowly. “And neither were you for me falling off that train. When I agreed to follow you into war, I knew what I was getting into and there are things that are out of your hands. What happened to me is one of those things.” At that, he cast him a tentative smile. It was the first real smile he had given Steve since he’d gotten to the tower. “You did your best, and it’s all I could ask for.”

And my best wasn’t good enough.

Steve swallowed down a small lump that had formed in his throat. He’d never stop blaming himself for what happened that day, his complete and utter failure to protect his best friend. At the time, he’d thought that if it came down to it, he’d willingly die to protect every single one of his teammates, and that it was Bucky he’d lost… it still drove him crazy.

He stared down on the city, his thoughts mingling with memories. Though he had watched the sun rise and set over New York many times by now, the city rarely looked this peaceful. And Steve doubted that he would ever tire of the sight. Peeks of light decorating the many New Yorker skyscrapers, pouring golden drops across the tower that he had come to know as home.

It had been strange how a place could become home so quickly. And he hoped Bucky would someday feel the same way.

Next to him, Bucky sighed, and his gaze narrowed. “Steve. It wasn’t your fault.”

After a still beat, Steve nodded slowly, overwrought with feelings.

“And you got yourself a whole new family, while I was away.” He resumed pacing around the bedroom and came to a stop in front of a row of picture frames. He took up one of them, and Steve didn’t have to look to know that it was one of their wedding photos. “And a husband.”

Steve shrugged, smiling at him. He trailed after Bucky, coming to a stop right next to him. It was a black and white photograph, and both he and Tony were smiling widely into the camera. “Sure have.”

“Had a feeling you would,” Bucky said quietly next to him.

“What?” Steve asked with an amused sound. “Marry a man?”

“No,” Bucky replied with a huff. “That’s… a bit of a surprise. Not necessarily a bad one, but… you never said anything.”

Steve brushed a hand through his still damp hair. “I like women, too, Bucky. I just like… both. Always have. I didn’t lie to you; if there’d been a fella back then, I would’ve told you.”

Bucky hummed, and nodded in acceptance. He put the photo back down, his eyes lingering for a second before he looked back up at Steve. “What I meant is… I knew you’d eventually find someone. Not everyone could possibly be so stupid not to see what a great guy you were.”

Steve flushed a bit at the compliment. “Thanks.”

Bucky glanced at him through the glass, casting him a crooked smile. “That this ‘someone’ would be a Stark, though…”

“Tony’s great, Buck. I’m sure you’ll get along just fine.”

“He’s a dick,” Bucky said matter-of-factly. “But so are you, most of the time. You, uh… love him, right?”

The question was getting unspeakably redundant, especially after their two years of marriage, but Steve figured the reassurance was needed when coming from his long lost best friend. He knew he would be doing the same if the tables were turned. “With everything I have,” he replied and cocked his head curiously. “You don’t really have a problem with that, do you?”

A long, unwavering beat at that. “No,” Bucky said eventually, and there was the beginning of a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Just need to wrap my head around it. A Stark. You’re filthy rich now, aren’t you?”

Steve heaved a long breath. “I didn’t marry him for his money, Buck.”

Bucky leaned sideways and his eyes moved across extravagant interior of the living room, as if he only just realized how high-quality everything around here was. “But it sure doesn’t hurt, huh?” he asked with a real grin. “All the things we wanted back then… all the things we always dreamed about… You’ve got them here. You have Stark, and I never thought that Nat would—” He trailed off, looking oddly bashful all of a sudden. And completely unable to go on.

Steve laughed warmly, and laid a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, pulling him in for another a massive bear hug.

“So we’ve got everything we ever wanted,” he told Bucky firmly, because now that his best friend was back at his side, safe and as well as could be expected under these circumstances, it was finally true.

“Now let’s learn to enjoy it.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“What time is it?” Steve mumbled as he was roused from sleep. He had a feeling it was only a few hours before dawn. And yet, Tony stood next to the bed, loosening his tie.

“Early,” he replied in a clipped tone and folded his suit jacket across one of their lounge chairs. “No need to get up just yet.”

Steve frowned at that, sitting up slightly. “How did the meeting go?”

Today was supposed to be the last hearing about Bucky’s case before he would have to testify himself. Tony had been carefully optimistic when he’d left New York yesterday, and the sour mood he was in now meant no good.

“Splendid,” Tony said with a bitter undertone. When he had dressed down to a shirt and his boxers, and lay down on the bed, Steve noticed the dark circles around his eyes, and the paleness of his skin.

Steve perked a brow. “When was the last time you had a good night’s sleep?”

Tony huffed. “I don’t know. Christmas?” He shifted on the mattress, staring up the ceiling.

“Come on, sweetheart, talk to me,” Steve said softly, and laid a hand on Tony’s chest, caressing the skin around the arc reactor.

“The last thing I want to do is recite all the stupidity I had to listen to the entire day, Steve.”

“So no results?”

“No,” Tony confirmed, his voice clipped. “No results. Just yet another meeting.”

A long sigh shuddered through Tony’s body as he rolled onto his side, facing away from Steve. “I’m not in the mood for talking right now. I’m tired. Good night.”

In the distance, a roll of thunder crashed, and Steve’s body went rigid.

He knew Tony had taken the brunt force of SHIELD’s downfall, and Steve… Steve had let him. He’d been in a bubble, isolated from the outside world. For weeks, nothing other than Bucky had mattered, and now that he could finally take a breath without the worry bearing down on him, he realized how much he had truly neglected Tony.

Those weeks must’ve been a horror for him, too. At first, there had been days upon days of trying to deactivate the mental implants in Bucky’s brain, and once that was done, Tony had jetted around the US, promoting their case and trying to keep Bucky from going to prison.

How much had changed in those weeks? Steve honestly didn’t know. With SHIELD being declared a terrorist organization, the structures of their allies had to be lying in shambles. There would be the next row of villains in the world, and they were the Avengers, and that made them a beacon for all kinds of new pain and suffering.

Steve sighed and wrapped an arm around Tony’s middle, resting his cheek against the back of his head. He wouldn’t let anything come between them, not now, and if he could help it, not in the future.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to his hair. “I really am. I should’ve been by your side for this. Please forgive me.”

The tension Tony’d been harboring rolled off his body with a long trembling breath, and he finally relaxed in Steve’s arms. “There wasn’t much you could have done…” he told him quietly. “It’s just really fucking frustrating.”

“Tell me,” Steve ventured softly, his nose brushing along one of Tony’s ears.

Tony sighed, and was still for another full minute, before he eventually started talking.

“Since HYDRA is getting stronger, they’ll accept us as a first line of defense. They’re fine with us taking all the risk, but won’t give us the authority to actually make any sort of executive decisions. Our offer on a close collaboration is more than enough. I know it. They know it.”

“Then what’s keeping them?”

“If I had to guess: they just don’t want to lose face; having to admit they have to rely on a potentially unstable group of super humans. But they can’t just say so, and instead bring up personal shit from my past as if that has anything to do with the Initiative.”

Steve sighed lowly. At least Tony hadn’t called them assclowns again. As far as he knew.

“How can I help?” He brushed his nose further along the line of Tony’s jawline, pressing soft kisses on the skin wherever he could.

“You can’t,” Tony decided on. “Unless you somehow know some secret to charm your way into their withered greedy hearts.”

Steve shrugged, unbothered. “I could always recite the Constitution and look very patriotic. That always worked for me in the 40s.”

Tony snorted. “Yeah, sure, that’s…” He trailed off and glanced at Steve over his shoulder, a thoughtful frown etched onto his face. “That’s… actually not even a bad idea.”

Steve raised a brow at him. “Reciting the Constitution? Not sure how that will help now.”

“No, I mean… you taking the front seat. I thought I had to be their handler because I know my way through these meetings, but… Maybe they need someone they feel they can control, at least for now. Someone who isn’t posing any sort of threat and—”

Steve huffed. “Geez, thanks.”

“—and I could just pull the strings but never actually show up on stage. You know, like some sort of puppet master.”

“Just to be clear: I’m the puppet in this, right?” Steve asked, loosening his grip around Tony’s middle. Immediately, Tony turned around and rolled on top of Steve, all but plastering himself on his body. He grinned down on him, and Steve couldn’t help but smile back.

“You, my lovely, trustworthy, honest-looking husband, are the perfect puppet,” Tony announced while pressing little kisses all over Steve’s face. “At least they will think so. They have no idea what a little calculating shit you can be. You’re our boss, anyway. And they will double over to affiliate with Captain America.”

“Not all of them,” Steve reminded him.

Tony didn’t seem bothered. “Yeah, well, marrying a man—and me of all people—might’ve put a little damper on your political popularity, but the people adore you, and they know that. You’re still every bit America’s beacon of hope, now more so than ever, and trust me—if you offer, they will plaster themselves on you before you can even start quoting the Constitution’s first article.”

Steve smiled ruefully. “Fine. I’ll be your puppet for the time being if you drop the attitude and kiss me.”

Tony rolled his eyes, but leaned in to press a soft kiss against Steve’s lips.

“Let’s go through the details tomorrow morning,” Steve suggested between soft nibbles. “Meet up with Maria, and then I’ll join you on the next hearing.”

Tony smiled softly and nodded. “Thank you.”

“I really am sorry I didn’t help you sooner,” Steve murmured and drew Tony back in. Their legs entwined, not an inch between them, and it was so good he finally felt like he could just relax a little.

“Water under the bridge,” Tony whispered, and his mouth found Steve’s in a blink. Steve’s mind collapsed and his body fell pliant in Tony’s arms. It amazed him that Tony’s kisses still had that enthralling effect over him.

Steve tried to jerk his wrists out of Tony’s grip—his mind on one-track to remove his clothing—but Tony refused to release him. He could’ve broken free, of course, and easily so, but right now, he was willing to follow Tony’s lead. So he just kissed back; he kissed Tony and the earth ceased moving.

Tony’s tongue slipped between Steve’s lips, and with a long whimper, all of the fight left Steve’s body. There really was no taste in the world that could rival Tony’s. He was pressed intimately against Steve, his erection rubbing against Steve’s pajama-pants, inciting small, involuntary whimpers from his mouth. Steve’s skin was hot all over. His blood rushed with excitement.

“Tony,” he whimpered, as Tony slipped a hand between them. His fingers encountered the waistband of Steve’s pants and diving beneath them without ceremony. And then Tony was touching him, a firm hand wrapping around his length, stroking him just the way he liked it. Tony was everywhere—oh God—his legs splayed on either side of Steve’s, his mouth peppering kisses all over his face. He had his cock in his hand and was stroking the hard length of him with such self-assurance.

A low moan left Steve’s lips as he pressed his eyes closed.

“Is that what you need?” Tony whispered and Steve wondered idly if it was a rhetorical question. “I’ll give you what you need.”

“You. I need you,” Steve swore ardently, pulling Tony closer. His now free hand settled at Tony’s boxers, pulling them down over his ass in one go.

“I’ll get the lube,” Tony said, leaning sideways and rummaging through his nightstand for a second before flicking the little bottle open.

Steve groaned. “Can’t wait—can’t—”

Tony hummed in understanding, and the next thing Steve knew, he had wrapped a slick hand around the both of them. Tony put his weight on one elbow and looked down at their cocks, thrusting against Steve’s—and the friction was unbearably good.

“Just like that,” Steve breathed, so grateful that Tony understood. He couldn’t possibly wait through the prep. Not right now. The blaze in his body was too intense, his legs already shaking with how close he was. And from the edge in Tony’s voice, Steve could tell slow wasn’t exactly something he wanted, either.

“Like this?” Tony replied on a loud gasp, his hand pumping their hard lengths faster, just in time with the heavy breaths rolling through his chest.

Steve nodded harshly, his racing mind determined to keep up with every sensation. Faster was good. Faster was infinitely good. He focused on the wet slide of their erections and, at the same time, the look on Tony’s face. The way he moaned and melted into him—the way his tongue danced with Steve’s as their lips moved together. Tony always kissed Steve like he was starved, and Steve was the only one who could quench his thirst.

There was nothing but bliss stretching every curve of Tony’s face. And at that moment, it was all Steve knew.

“Yes,” he groaned into Tony’s mouth. “Need you. So much.”

Tony moaned and bit his lower lip. “You feel so good,” he whimpered against Steve’s lips. His thumb remained poised above their slits, massaging them softly. “You’re so hot like this. So needy. So desperate. And you’re all mine…”

Steve nodded, mind in a haze, but that was definitely true. All of him belonged to Tony.

“Move Tony… ahhh…”

The wet suctioning sounds filling the air between their shared pants only fueled the growing inferno in Steve’s belly. God, he could barely keep up with Tony. There were only the steady thrusts of his hips against Steve’s, and the eager slap of his balls against his Steve’s own every time he arched off of him. He heard the squeaking of the mattress beneath their thrusting bodies and shivered at the stream of words Tony likely wasn’t even aware he released into the hot air between them.

“So good, love you, Steve, love you so much. God, this is so good…”

Steve groaned. There was no arguing with that. “I love you,” he mumbled mindlessly, threading his trembling fingers through Tony’s hair and jerking his head back just far enough so he could look at him. “Love you, love you, love you.”

Tony nodded before he even knew what he was doing, his body shoving into overdrive. He was clenching his teeth and arching his back, and the deeper he pressed himself against Steve, the more Steve wanted to keep him there. He could feel Tony’s trembling muscles all over him, until Steve’s name tore off his lips in a single strangled groan as his hips started bucking madly.

“Oh my God. Oh God. Fuck yes.”

Steve thought he probably agreed, but he couldn’t be sure. Raw spasms quaked through his body, and he did his best to keep rubbing himself against Tony’s hand. A long and decidedly high-pitched whimper tore through the air and Steve jerked Tony to his chest, crushing his free arm around his middle and burying his face in the crook of his throat.

Tremors seized both of their bodies, blinding ecstasy ripping through every fiber. He didn’t even know who came first or how long it took, Steve couldn’t see—he could barely breathe if he wasn’t chanting Tony’s name, soaking their cocks with his release.

Steve took several shuddering breaths as he fell back down on the mattress, taking Tony with him. For several minutes, they were just lying there. Tony was wheezing for air, burying his face into Steve’s neck as he tried to regain composure.

“Well,” Steve declared into the air. “We sure haven’t done that in a while.”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed, and released an airy chuckle. “Cause I’m getting too old for this.”

“For sex?” Steve asked with a raised brow. “I respectfully disagree.”

Tony leaned up on both of his elbows to get away from Steve’s soaked-through shirt. “No. For ruining my shirts by lying in a puddle of your jizz, sweetheart.”

Steve huffed a laugh. “Mine, right. Your fault for not getting us undressed first.”

“Couldn’t wait,” Tony said idly, waving a hand in Steve’s general direction. “You owe me like… fifty orgasms over the course of the last three months. I thought it was best to get on with the program as long as I can still keep up with you.”

Steve snorted, glancing up at Tony with a lazy smile. “God, I love you. I don’t tell you enough.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Tony said and let himself flop down on the bed next to Steve. His hand blindly grabbed for Steve’s, entwining their fingers with little care of the fluids that were still right there. As if on a second thought, he drew his hand up and pressed a gentle kiss against Steve’s palm. “Love you, too.”

He smiled at Steve, then, and Steve smiled back. They looked at each other with a calm understanding. All of those sacrifices they’d made since they’d met in that shabby boxing club years ago were all there, right there in the air between them. And yet… Steve knew without word that Tony would gladly do it all over again. And so would Steve.

Because their love was worth it—always had been.

They would overcome whatever the future held in store for them, and at the end of every day, they had all they needed in each other. There was still so much to do, so many promises to keep, and Steve would see them kept. They would together.

Hand in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Hold My Hand (Fanvideo)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5961142) by [ann2who](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ann2who/pseuds/ann2who)




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